


Widow Maker

by Mhalachai



Series: A Widow's Tale [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A spy’s life, Aliens, Brainwashing, Crossover, F/M, Goa’uld, Intrigue, Is There No Help for the Widow's Son?, Russian assassins, Spy thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 110,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm is brewing over New York, and the fate of the Avengers, Stargate Command, and the entire galaxy lies in the balance. Now Natasha Romanoff must face her oldest friend and deadliest enemy – the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story does incorporate some aspects of the comics as it comes to the Winter Soldier, but given that the MCU has made some substantial changes to the characters already (Steve Rogers’ back-story hello) and we don’t know what Marvel will do with the Winter Soldier in the movie, I’m just going to go for it. No understanding of the comics or the Winter Soldier is necessary – I’m explaining inline as we go. 
> 
> Language: Given that our two main characters speaks Russian, as do several of our supporting players, there are times when the characters will be speaking something other than English. I’ve done my best to make it clear when the break happens, but since this can happen multiple times, I am tying it through the chapters in a narrative way instead of using italics or another formatting choice. 
> 
> I strongly recommend you read the previous parts in the Widow’s Tale series if you haven’t already – it’s all been building to this.
> 
> Takes place after Iron Man 3 and will have spoilers for that.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff trusted her instincts.

Those instincts had served her well for over seventy years; a hard life. Only sometimes instincts weren't enough.

After a week-long SHIELD mission in... well, it was best not to dwell on that clusterfuck of a mission, Natasha decided as she walked through Central Park on a clear March evening. Nearly a year after the Chitarui invasion and more than one natural disaster under its belt, New York was finally starting to look like her old self.

As much as New York ever looked like itself. That was what had always fascinated Natasha, how this American city could change so much and still be fundamentally the same.

And like any large city so close to sunset, the predators were already hunting.

Natasha stuck to the main pathways, wandering between joggers and early evening pedestrians. It was nearly six o'clock in New York, but Natasha had been jumping across the world for months and her internal clock hadn't caught up to the early darkness.

She could have stayed in the rebuilt Stark Tower when she'd gotten back from the mission debrief. The rest of the Avengers were there, and no doubt all of them would have been keen to keep Natasha company.

Maybe that was the problem, Natasha mused. They would be there for friendly camaraderie, up for conversation... always on hand to fix things.

And Natasha was having one of those weeks where nothing could be fixed.

(Something was wrong.)

Coulson had been dead for nearly ten months, and after the mission she'd barely survived, Natasha missed him fiercely. Coulson would have realized how dire the situation was from afar, and pulled Natasha out before her informant betrayed her to the enemy.

(Footsteps, faint and regular on the path behind her.)

A shiver ran down Natasha's spine, one that had nothing to do with the weather. She'd survived, Natasha reminded herself. She was the Black Widow. She survived where no one else would, where no one else _could_. She wasn't about to let memories and second-guesses consume her.

(Footsteps, growing closer without running. Boots. A man's step.)

At a split in the trail, Natasha turned left. It was darker this way, isolated, with trees close on either side of the path.

It was, perhaps ironically, the way back to Stark Tower.

(Footsteps, turning to follow. Closing in.)

Natasha slowed her steps, bending her head as she pretended to look for something in her bag. This did several things at once: it let her slip the bag strap off her shoulder so it could not be grabbed by an assailant. It also gave her the time and cover to grab the knife secured in the inseam of the bag.

Lastly, it let her turn without making it obvious so she could see who was following her.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, but in New York, even in the heart of Central Park, nothing was ever truly dark. There was enough light for Natasha to make out the man walking toward her. Tall (much taller than she), broad-shouldered (and oh, how strong he had been), dark hair brushing his shoulders (she'd loved running her hands through his hair when it was that long, grown out in his time in the field).

Natasha froze, air stolen from her lungs by the shock of this man, by all rights thirteen years dead.

A ghost

He slowed as he approached her, and stopped.

And then the Winter Soldier smiled.

"Hello, Natalia."

At his words, at his voice, oh god his _voice_ , grief and rage crashed over Natasha. This couldn't be the Winter Soldier, because the Winter Soldier was dead and Natasha had spent years grieving him, missing him. He was dead and Natasha had killed enough people to know that the dead never came back to life, they were just gone.

The Winter Soldier was dead and someone had dressed up this impostor in his place, sent him after Natasha.

Her hand tightened on the handle of her knife.

Four feet away, just out of arm's reach, the impostor's smile started to fade. "Natalia, what's wrong?" he asked in Russian.

Hearing the dead man's voice coming out of this stranger's mouth, using the name only the Winter Soldier knew, Natasha pulled her knife free and threw her bag to the side, out of the way of the fight. "Who are you?" she demanded, in the English words the Winter Soldier had taught her so many decades before.

The Winter Soldier stared at her. "Natalia, you know me," he said.

Her name in his voice coming out of this stranger's mouth was the last straw. Something inside Natasha's chest snapped and she struck out, an offensive attack fuelled by rage and over a decade of grief.

He was moving before her knife reached its target, matching her blow by blow, deflecting her with nothing more than his body. He knew her moves before she made them, and that only made her more furious. The Winter Soldier had been her finest teacher, had shown her how to fight until the moves themselves were more natural than breathing. Matching her like this should have been impossible from a stranger.

Then the point of her knife landed a blow on his left shoulder, and the impact of metal on metal shuddered up her arm.

The stranger with the Winter Soldier's face had a metal arm.

Natasha staggered back. The man looked at her, pale in spite of the exertion of the fight. "Tell me know you know me," he said, nearly begging. He reached for her again and Natasha grabbed his arm and kicked his knee out at the same time she threw him over her shoulder to the ground.

She was on him the next moment, sharp edge of the blade flat against his throat. "I am only going to ask you this one more time," Natasha said, breathing hard. "Who are you?"

"Tell me they didn't take you away from me," the stranger said, eyes wild. "Anything but that, not now—"

Natasha shoved the point of her knife under the stranger's chin. "What is your name?" she ground out.

He tilted his head up under the force of the blade. "I don't have a name, _pauk_ , you know that," he said at long last. "Only a designation."

Natasha had heard those same words decades before, when she was a child, on the day she had first met the Winter Soldier in the Red Room.

Her hand started to shake. "What is your designation, comrade?" she asked in a small voice.

"I am the Winter Soldier," he said, lowering his chin. She eased up slightly on the knife but kept the point pressed firmly against his skin. "You have to remember that, Natalia. Please." His last word was a whisper.

"The Winter Soldier is dead," Natasha said, regaining her grip on the knife. "He was killed thirteen years ago, I saw his body—"

The man's eyes grew wide in confusion. "Natalia, I'm not dead," he protested. "Whatever you saw, it wasn't real, it wasn't me—"

"Prove it," Natasha interrupted, increasing pressure on the blade. She pressed her knee harder into the man's solar plexus, causing him to wince.

"How?"

"The Winter Soldier was a smart man, you figure it out!"

They were close enough to kiss, their bodies pressed together where Natasha held this man to the ground. The Winter Soldier would have risked a slashed face to get out of such a hold, and Natasha couldn't understand why this man hadn't tried.

Carefully, slowly, the man lifted his hand to his collar and pulled the cloth aside. In the pale light coming through the trees, Natasha could see the rough scar just above his collarbone.

An old scar.

A familiar scar.

Natasha had given the Winter Soldier that scar over sixty years before.

Her grip on the knife loosened as realization hit her. This wasn't a man dressed up to look like the Winter Soldier.

This _was_ the Winter Soldier.

Her Winter Soldier.

She sat up, letting the knife slip to the ground. Thirteen years of loss collapsed around her and she covered her mouth with her hands, not sure if she would cry or scream or both.

The Winter Soldier righted himself underneath her, pulling Natasha onto his lap and holding her to him, burying his face in her hair. "I thought they'd taken you away from me, out of your head," he murmured against her neck, holding her painfully tight. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I did lose you," Natasha said, tugging on his hair until he pulled back enough for her to see his face. "I lost you forever."

And now she could see that it really was him. Eyes grey in the pale light, a hint of stubble on his jaw and cheeks, faint circles under his eyes, so tired and so alive and _hers_.

She kissed him then, her arms tight around his shoulders. His left arm, metal and hard under the black leather of his jacket, snaked around her waist while his right hand, flesh and bone, cupped the back of her head.

How many times had he held her like this? Natasha wondered as she ran her tongue over his lip, opening her mouth to his. How many times had she woken from nightmares, still feeling the ghost of his body on hers?

A snap in the distance pulled them both back to themselves. They froze, looked in the direction of the noise, then some faint hint of movement (boots, polyester rubbing against Kevlar, the silent weight of authority) made them tumble apart. Natasha retrieved her bag while the Winter Soldier went for the knife, offering it to her as they darted into the trees.

Natasha sheathed the knife as she led the Winter Soldier to the left, staying well out of the flashlight beams dancing into the trees. Another few steps, and Natasha found the rough stone wall. She tapped the Winter Soldier's shoulder, and he went up first before leaning over to offer his hand to haul over the wall, just before the police officers burst into the clearing, flashlights in hand.

The Winter Soldier moved silently through the darkness, Natasha at his heels, until they got to another break in the trees. There, he waited for Natasha to step to his side and he took her arm in his as they walked on, just a normal couple taking a stroll through Central Park after work.

The commotion lingered in the air like smoke, with the other park-goers talking excitedly among themselves. Natasha overheard fragments, about some lady being attacked in the trees, and smiled to herself as they walked away. "Must you always cause a scene?" she asked the Winter Soldier in Russian.

"You're the one who came at me with a knife," the Winter Soldier responded in kind, smiling down at her. "Everyone knows American parks are not safe. It will distract them for a few minutes."

"And where will we go in those few minutes?" Natasha asked. Now that the first flush of exhilaration had faded, she wondered why this man came to find her here, of all places. There were other ways to get her attention in a less dramatic setting.

What did he want?

"I have an idea of a place," the Winter Soldier murmured. He turned into her as a policeman on a horse galloped past, kissing her hair to hide his face. "Will you come with me, Natalia?"

"I will," Natasha said evenly. Her heart rate sped up at the possibilities that this man always brought to her – action, intrigue, a fight...

Or, her mind whispered as his hand slid down her side to rest on her hip, after so many years apart, he might want nothing more than to take her to his bed.

Natasha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. The Winter Soldier was alive and whole, she knew well from holding his body down with hers in the park. And her body was letting her know exactly how glad it was to have this man back.

Without another word, the Winter Soldier guided Natasha to the path west out of the park, toward the subway. The sidewalks were thick with evening commuters, and Natasha had to slip out from under the Winter Soldier's arm to navigate the crush. His left hand slid around hers, metal and unforgiving beneath the glove he wore, and she held on tight.

She was not letting him go again.

Wordlessly, they made their way down to the platform, letting the flow of the people move around them. Old habits awoke in Natasha, pulling on skills she had scarcely used since the Winter Soldier's death. She scanned the platform, looking for familiar faces, while she knew the Winter Soldier was looking for physical reactions in the crowd, all without seeming to see anyone besides Natasha.

They had done this many times over the decades, and even though thirteen years had passed and her entire world had upended more than once, Natasha had not forgotten how this partnership worked.

The B Train arrived and they ducked onto the last car, pressing tight against each other in the packed carriage. The Winter Soldier took hold of an upper handrail and braced his legs as the train moved out of the station; Natasha told herself she had no choice but to wrap one arm around his waist and hold on tight.

There was no opportunity to talk, not with the commuters headed to Brooklyn. Natasha rested her head on the Winter Soldier's shoulder and tried to think, but the press of his body against hers was too much for her to concentrate.

He was alive, and he was whole, and when he breathed Natasha could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Memories played in her head, of the broken body she'd seen on the slab in the hospital basement in Gheorgheni. She'd always hated missions in Romania, but this one had been a disaster before it even began. She'd been separated from the Winter Soldier for a few days, and when she surfaced again, it was to the news that the Winter Soldier had been killed.

She had refused to believe it. She'd broken a direct order in going to the hospital, had opened the cabinet in the morgue and seen the body, or rather what was left of the body, and—

The Winter Soldier squeezed her shoulder, causing Natasha to look up. "Hey," was all he said, but there was a warning in his gaze.

Natasha gave a small nod, and tried to compose herself. That was the way they stayed alive, pretending to be something they were not.

Normal. Harmless.

The train grew increasingly crowded as they got closer to Brooklyn. At one stop, the Winter Soldier changed hands, gripping the metal bar over their heads with his left hand, a position Natasha knew he could keep up for hours. His right hand drifted down Natasha's arm, tangling their fingers together. His breath was warm against her hair. Even though she had every reason not to, she felt safe here with the Winter Soldier.

She took the opportunity to look at the Winter Soldier, just look at him. He was more than handsome; he was beautiful. She'd thought so since the first time she laid eyes on him as a child. His brown hair brushed his shoulders, framing his face. His jaw was well-defined, his chin just a shade away from being square. His eyes were wide and blue-grey in the harsh light in the subway car. Time and the weight of their work had put faint lines in his skin, but the corners of his eyes still crinkled when he smiled at her, like she was the only other person in his world.

Something in her stomach curled over when he smiled at her, and she dug her fingers into his shirt to keep upright as the train took a corner.

As the train was entering Brooklyn, Natasha's phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket to see a text from Clint, _u in for dnner? brce making curry; tny says its gnna blow stves mnd._

Wondering yet again what Clint had against the proper use of vowels, Natasha quickly tapped out, _Something came up. I'll see you guys tomorrow._

Immediately, the response came, _assemble?_

_No. It's personal._

After a minute, her phone buzzed again. _mrow._

_Die in a fire_ , she replied, which was their special code that things were okay, and slipped her phone back into her pocket. The Winter Soldier, who had been watching this textual exchange from above, merely raised his eyebrows at her.

She made a face, and he dropped a kiss on her nose.

He didn't ask with whom she'd been communicating.

At Atlantic Avenue, the Winter Soldier pulled Natasha off the train. They waited on the platform until another train came in, and then they drifted up the stairs with the crowd. Outside, the air was cleaner than in the city, but the traffic was louder. The Winter Soldier held Natasha's hand as they walked down the sidewalk, just like they were normal people.

After a couple of blocks, Natasha squeezed the man's hand before letting go. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"We'll be there soon," he said.

Natasha stopped dead. "No," was all she said.

"Natalia..." the Winter Soldier said, turning around.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Thirteen years can't be so long that you'd think I'd go blindly with you without any explanation."

He let out a breath. "Can you just..." His voice trailed off before he said _trust me_ , which was just as well. "Look, it's..." He seemed to struggle with the words, but not in an _I'm trying to come up with a clever cover story_ way. "Do you want to eat?" he said instead, pointing at a storefront down the block.

"You don't like pizza," Natasha pointed out as she turned on her heel and headed down the street.

"I don't cook and I'm sure as hell not going to wait at some place where they've got to make the food," the Winter Soldier said, catching up with her.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Natasha asked archly.

The Winter Soldier caught Natasha around the waist and swung her into the air. "In bed," he said, voice close to a growl. He cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her skin. "With you."

The sheer hunger in his expression stole her breath away. "Then you'd better eat up," she said, pulling away from him. "You're going to need your energy."

She sauntered away from him, putting a sway in her step.

It took him nearly a minute to catch up with her outside the pizzeria.

Three slices and half an hour later, the Winter Soldier guided Natasha up the steps of an apartment building in a quiet street in Brooklyn. Four flights up, he unlocked a non-descript door and held it for her. At the look she gave him, he went in first.

The apartment was small and barely looked lived-in. The room held a small kitchen, the table cluttered with open newspapers and some electronic parts, while a door opening off to the left showed a tiny bathroom. The entire apartment could have fit in her bedroom back at Stark Tower.

The Winter Soldier closed the door behind her and locked it, then turned around slowly. He looked at her in silence.

Well. She'd waited for thirteen years; she could wait another few minutes. She unzipped her jacket, then let it slide slowly down her arms to pool on the floor.

The Winter Soldier ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Natalia, I..."

All the pent-up desire from that afternoon, fuelled by years of loss and grief, drove her to the end of her patience. Closing the distance between them, she pressed their bodies together and kissed him.

He returned her kiss, his lips soft against hers, his hands steady on her body, and this was wonderful, this was _perfect_ , but she needed more. She needed to see him whole and alive, to drive the memories of that broken body out of her head. Breaking the kiss, she slid the jacket off his shoulders, then slipped her hands under his shirt and pushed it over his head.

He was more muscular than the last time she'd seen him, bulk hard-earned on his lean frame, but hardly more than that. Her breath caught in an uncomfortable mix of desire and concern - he'd been working himself too hard and not eating enough; he barely had enough fat on him to keep warm in the summer, let alone in this chill spring.

"What?" he asked quietly, catching her chin with his fingers and bringing her head up.

"You need taking care of," she said, switching back to the Russian that was so much more natural to her. She put her hands on his stomach and kissed him again, hardly more than a gentle press of lips on his. "You're too thin."

"Thin?" he repeated, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement. "This from the girl who was only bony limbs and insubordination when we first met?"

"I grew up," she reminded him, and guided his hand to her waist. "Remember?"

He dipped his fingers under her shirt, his hand warm against her stomach. "I do remember," he told her. "And you grow more beautiful every day."

With that, he pulled her shirt over her head and threw it across the room before gathering her against him. The black fabric of her bra stood out against the paleness of her skin as he cupped her breast in his palm.

"I'm an old woman now," Natasha heard herself saying. "That was all a very long time ago."

The Winter Soldier's fingers slid down her side, tracing a thin scar on her ribcage. "You were beautiful when you were a girl and you were beautiful when you were a young woman," he said, moving his hands up flick open the clasp on her bra. "You are even more beautiful to me now."

Her hands were on his shoulders, feeling him so alive under her touch. She kissed his chest as he pulled off her bra, her tongue running over his scars, and she felt him tense.

"Take me to bed," Natasha whispered, lifting her head. The Winter Soldier stopped breathing for a second. "Prove to me that you're real."

"Anything you want," he said, half smiling, but there was some deeper emotion lurking in his eyes. Natasha shivered. Something dark. Something primal.

She let him pull her over to the bed, push the sheets to the side and lower her down onto the mattress, and it was as if no time had passed at all, as if the last thirteen years of grief and loss had never been.

He touched her as he always had, all those times he came to her bed; quiet touch and strong hands and breath hot on her skin. They had been lovers for so long, for most of Natasha's life. She'd had other men and women, and she assumed he had too, but when it was the two of them, it was _right_.

He was hers.

With a flick of his fingers, the Winter Soldier undid the buttons on her jeans and slid them down her legs, taking her socks with them. With kisses and oh-so-gentle teeth, he worked his way down her body, her breasts, the dip in her waist, then he was moving down her legs to kiss the soft skin of her thigh. His hands pulled her underwear down her legs, off somewhere onto the floor, then he was sliding between her thighs.

Natasha's back arched as he tasted her, his tongue sliding over her clit just the way she liked it. She reached down, digging her fingers into his hair as he took her clit in his mouth and sucked, her breath catching as the sensations filled her body.

He put his arm over her hips as she bucked up under his mouth, so close, then he did something with his tongue that pushed her over and she came hard, moaning her release.

Before she could catch her breath, he was climbing up her body, kneeling beside her in the bed. He yanked off his pants and underwear in one quick motion and kicked them to the floor. Before Natasha could offer to reciprocate with her mouth, the Winter Soldier centred himself between her legs, bending down to kiss her. She tasted herself on his tongue as he pushed himself inside her.

The sensation, the stretch and the fullness and just the slightest hint of discomfort, made her cry out into his mouth. He stilled inside her. "Natalia?"

"Wait for a minute," she whispered against his lips. It had been so long since she'd had a lover, and in her haste with this man, she'd pushed herself faster than she should have. "I'm out of practice."

He lifted his head to look at her, so close. His eyes were dark with arousal, his breathing quick, and she'd known him long enough to know how much he'd been waiting for this.

"Slow," she murmured, running her hands up his back. Carefully, the Winter Soldier shifted inside her, pulling out, then pushing back in with equal care. Once, twice, three times, he shifted against her as if she would break if he moved too fast.

The slow sense of fullness as he moved inside her was delicious, but she wanted more. As he pressed against her for a fourth time, Natasha tightened her legs around his waist. "I'm ready," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For you to show me how much you missed me."

He hesitated for a moment, looking into her eyes for any hidden meaning, but whatever he saw in her face gave him the answer he needed, for he shifted up on the bed, took her hips in his hands and, pulling out slightly, thrust into her, then again. She matched him move for move, remembering this, remembering _him_.

He was close, Natasha could tell by the way his hands flexed on her hips as he moved. Taking his left hand, Natasha guided it between their bodies. He took the hint and pressed his thumb against her clit. The cool shock of the metal against that already-sensitive point made Natasha arch her back with a moan.

Going up on his knees, the Winter Soldier slid his other arm around her waist and held her up while he fucked her, hard and fast and so deep, pressing circles on her clit until one final thrust pushed her over, and she came again.

With a groan, the Winter Soldier gave one last push, and Natasha felt a rush of heat deep inside her body. He held her there for a moment, then sank back on his heels, still holding Natasha around the waist.

Natasha couldn't move, couldn't think, could only breathe in the aftermath.

Slowly, the Winter Soldier pulled out of her body and helped her settle down onto the bed before curling up at her side, putting his arms around her and slipping one knee between her legs.

She stroked his hair, kissed his cheek, his lips, anything she could reach without moving. She had missed this so much.

Natasha hadn't had a lover since before she'd been assigned to Stark Industries as Natalie Rushman, years before. She'd almost forgotten this feeling, the delicious ache low in her body, the warmth of another person against her, skin on skin.

But it was more than that. She'd never thought that she would have this again, the Winter Soldier in her bed, breathing softly against her neck, his metal arm cool under her head, his flesh arm warm over her stomach.

Settling into his embrace, Natasha ran her hand over his back, over the play of muscles there, over his spine. Moving up toward his metal shoulder, her fingers encountered rough skin she hadn't expected.

The Winter Soldier went still.

"What?" Natasha whispered as he shot upright, going back on his heels. She reached for his arm. "What is it?"

The Winter Soldier looked at her, breathing fast, his eyes gone tight with memory. Natasha slid down the bed, moving slow in case he spooked. Carefully, she took his shoulders and held him close.

This had happened before; he'd trigger on something and need a few minutes to find his way back to himself. Natasha never knew if it was related to something he'd experienced himself, or something had gone wrong in the Red Room programming. It got worse around heights, not exactly a great thing in a sniper, but he could usually hold himself together.

But before today, it had never happened in bed.

Slowly, so slowly, the tension eased out of his body and he hunched over, collapsing almost bonelessly. Natasha pulled him back down to the bed and held him against her, stroking his hair with gentle fingers.

After a while, he spoke against her throat. "They put me back into stasis in ‘ninety-nine, but in a hurry after pulling me out of Romania, I remember that much. But I think they did it wrong, because I dreamed. I remember that I dreamed."

His hands splayed over her back, holding her tight.

"What happened when they revived you from stasis?" Natasha asked.

He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, breathing hard for a long moment. "They didn't."

Sitting up, he shifted around so Natasha could see his back. An angry criss-cross of scars started at his shoulder where metal met flesh, and down his side, a thin red spider web of pain.

"I woke up and something was wrong with the stasis chamber," he said, facing away from her. His back was hunched, against pain or memory, Natasha didn't know. "The power was out and oxygen in my mask was running low. I tried to get the tube open, but the latches wouldn't pop. The failsafe didn't kick in and the tube was full of water. The oxygen was running out," he repeated.

Natasha went up on her knees and went to him, resting her head on his shoulder from behind. "How did you get out?" she asked.

The Winter Soldier sighed. "I had to force my way through the glass," he said after a pause. "Took a deep breath, pulled off the air mask, put my feet against the back of the tube and pushed as hard as I could to break the glass and get out."

Natasha had once seen the stasis chamber where they'd kept the Winter Soldier on ice between missions. She had been young and it had terrified her, to see a man as alive and vital as the Winter Soldier suspended limp in the tube, air mask over his mouth the only sign that he wasn't a corpse, but still a living man.

She also knew how thick the glass was on the outside of the stasis chamber.

 "It worked," she said. "Right?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "I managed to claw my way out. I thought, maybe there was a malfunction in the programming, surely someone would be coming to see, right?"

His hands were shaking. Some cowardly part of her was glad she couldn't see his face.

"But I wasn't in the compound, Natalia. Do you know where they'd put me?"

"No," Natasha admitted, pressing her cheek against his good shoulder. 

"I was in a warehouse, in the middle of nowhere." He gave a shudder, and quickly slipped out of her grasp. He ended up on the edge of the bed, facing her but not seeing her at all. "No one came to see what was going on because there was no one there. The programming didn't fail, someone turned off the building's power."

He pushed his hair back from his face, looking as close to haunted as she'd ever seen him.

"They put me into storage like I was nothing," he said bitterly. "Like I was some knife, or gun, not _anything_. Not a person. Just a broken weapon they didn't want to deal with anymore."

Natasha didn't know what to say. After a few minutes, he turned back to her. His eyes were red, but his face was blank, the perfect mask for the perfect operative. She knew what it must have cost him – after all, she'd spent years perfecting masks of her own.

She held out her hands. "Come on," she said. "Come back to bed."

He rubbed his eyes and shifted up the bed, letting Natasha tuck them both under the covers. The lamp beside the bed, the only light in the room, cast strange shadows over the walls.

The Winter Soldier traced circles on Natasha's arm in silence for some time. The sounds of the traffic outside drifted through the windows; elsewhere in the building, footsteps on the stairs, doors slamming, a television somewhere had the volume turned up.

"Why didn't you come find me?" the Winter Soldier asked after a while.

Natasha opened her eyes. The Winter Soldier lay half on top of her, his weight comfortingly solid. "I saw your body," she said. "You didn't... it didn't have a face anymore, what I saw, but it had your build and everything." She looked up at the ceiling, wishing she didn't remember it so vividly. "The body even had your metal arm, at least I assumed it was yours. If I'd known you were still alive..."

Well. The last thirteen years would have been very different for Natasha. She'd never have joined SHIELD.

She would never have seen her son again.

"That was thirteen years ago," Natasha said. "A lot's changed since then."

The Winter Soldier brushed her cheek with a feathery touch, shifting so he lay fully on top of her. "A lot has changed," he agreed, kissing her forehead. "Like now, you work for the enemy."

His tone was so mild, it took Natasha a moment to realize the full meaning of his words. "It's not like that," she told him, putting her hand on his arm.

He traced her cheekbone with his thumb, looking at her with empty eyes. His weight was on top of her, his leg between hers, his metal hand under her head, fingers tangled in her hair. She'd forgotten how physically large he was, tall and muscular and deadly.

She wasn't afraid he would harm her; if he'd intended to hurt her, or even kill her, he would have done in the park or on the subway. He would have had no need to wait until she was naked and vulnerable to cause her harm.

That was her area of expertise.

So no, she wasn't afraid of him, but he was still larger than she was, and he had her pinned, and she had no idea why.

He was staring down at her with eyes gone cold. Considering.

Easing her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders, Natasha said, "The world's changed since you knew it. We're not fighting the same battles anymore. The stakes are bigger now, bigger than just countries, bigger than even this planet."

She reached up with her left hand, brushing his hair back behind his ear, then sliding her hand down to rest on his bicep. She could feel the coiled tension in his muscles.

"You may have convinced yourself that it's different, but you're still taking orders from an American," he said, disgust in his words.

"SHIELD isn't just American—" Natasha tried to say, but he cut her off.

"I'm not talking about SHIELD," he said, white-hot anger bleeding out into his voice. "The Avengers? Captain America? You spend your time taking orders from a man with a damned American flag painted across his chest!"

Natasha had heard enough. She tried to get out from under the Winter Soldier, but his hand clamped down on her arm, holding her in place underneath him.

"Tell me, Natalia, what exactly did Captain America do to make you whore yourself out to fight in their bloody wars?" the Winter Soldier demanded. "Did he blackmail you about your son? Did he buy you off with blood money from his war bonds?"

Natasha pushed at him, angry now. "Get off me!"

The Winter Soldier ground his hips against her as he shifted his weight, going up on his elbows. "Or maybe it's not that at all," he said with a sharp smile. "Tell me, Natalia, is his dick big enough to make you forget where you come from?"

Natasha shifted her weight as she brought her knee up to hook her foot under his hip. With all her strength, she kicked out at the same time as she punched him in the back, just above his kidneys.

He grunted at the force of the blow, flinching enough for Natasha to slither off the bed. She kept moving across the floor, giving herself space to stay out of the Winter Soldier's grasp, but he stayed on the bed. For a moment, they stared at each other.

Natasha shook her head and picked up the first piece of clothing she could lay hands on, his undershirt, and pulled it on. She felt better with the thin bit of cloth between her and this infuriating man.

"I am only going to say this once," she said, vibrating with anger. "I work for SHIELD not because they're perfect, but because they are trying to keep this world safe for everyone, not just Americans. That includes everyone who used to be on our side, do you understand?"

The Winter Soldier didn't say anything.

"And here's the other thing. I fight with Captain America, not for him, because he's a good man and a good leader."

Natasha turned around and paced over to the sink. The floor was cold under her feet, but she didn't care.

Turning back to face the Winter Soldier, she went on, "I'm not fucking Captain America. But if I was? It would be because he's my friend." She took a breath. "I haven't forgotten where I come from. Any of it. So you don't _ever_ say such things to me again!"

Silence hung in the room between them. Slowly, the Winter Soldier got out of bed. He pulled on his trousers before he crossed the floor. When he reached her, he went down on his knees in front of her and pressed his face against her stomach, his arms going around her waist. From this angle, Natasha could see the red spider web of scars on his shoulder, sliding down his skin from the metal plating on his shoulder.

Her anger at the Winter Soldier churned with the wild elation of finding him again, and the lingering grief of the last thirteen years. Natasha closed her eyes and willed the mental agitation to go away. She had enough to worry about; she couldn't handle adding the drama on top of it.

She had forgotten how much work the man could be.

She placed her hands on his head, his hair soft under her palms. Outside, a siren screamed past on the street. After a few minutes, the Winter Soldier turned his head to look up at Natasha. She stroked the hair back from his temple, her thumb lingering on his cheek.

"You make me crazy," Natasha said softly.

The Winter Soldier tried to smile as he got to his feet. When he put his arms around her, she didn't protest, just rested her cheek on his chest.

"I'm getting old, Natalia," he said against the top of her head. "I don't know how old I was when I went into stasis the first time, I don't remember anything before that, but to have done the things they said I did during the War... was I twenty-five? Thirty?"

"What's this about?" Natasha murmured. "You've never talked about your age before."

 "I did the math," he went on. "Adding it all up, I can remember being out of stasis for ten years. How old does that make me?"

"What does it matter?" Natasha asked curiously.

He sighed. "I feel old," he confessed. "Dried-up and tired. Like I don't fit anywhere."

"Hey," Natasha said, placing her hand on his chest. "Do you remember how long ago you met me? I'm so much older than you--"

"It's not the same," he protested. "You've been in the world, you understand it. It's different being frozen in time and waking up in the future, with no way to get back."

While Natasha hadn't experienced that, she had spoken briefly with Steve over the last year about his experiences being pulled from the Arctic ice and coming to terms with the present. "You'll find your way," she said softly. "You always have."

"It seems harder this time," he muttered. He slid his hand down her side. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Now. Come back to bed with me."

He let himself be led back to the bed, and sat down on the edge. Natasha settled herself on his lap, the fabric of his trousers rough against her thighs. "I missed you," she said as he pulled her in close.

"I missed you too," he admitted. He cleared his throat. "Has anything else happened to you since Romania?"

Natasha rested her head against his shoulder. Looking back, 1999 seemed like several lifetimes ago. In all that time, however, in between the missions and the bloodshed, there was one thing that stood out in her life as truly good.

"I got my son back," she murmured. "SHIELD brought John in to my interrogation when they hauled me in ten years ago."

"How did he react to seeing you alive?" the Winter Soldier asked.

Natasha smiled wryly. "Better than I did in seeing you today," she said. "More cutting words, less actual violence."

It had been over a decade since she'd first faced John Sheppard across the floor of a SHIELD interrogation room. Their relationship since then had been rocky, but it held up under pressure. He still only called her _Mom_ on occasion, and he wasn't great about returning phone calls, but he was alive and he was healing and that was all that any mother could ask for.

"Good," the Winter Soldier said. "I know how much the boy means to you."

That boy is older now than you've ever been, Natasha thought to herself. She leaned back so she could look at the Winter Soldier, his blue-green eyes bright in his tired face. "John was the greatest gift in my life," she said truthfully.

And then she turned in the Winter Soldier's embrace, kissing him firmly. He responded instantly, guiding her down to the bed and pulling the shirt over her head in one smooth movement.

This time, they were slow with each other, and oh so gentle. The Winter Soldier caressed every inch of her skin, as if trying to commit this night to memory. She ended up on top of him, riding his body while his hands moved over her hips, her waist, her breasts. She stared down at him as she moved, this man who had been her first friend, her first lover. He'd grown older since the first time they'd been together, but then, so had she.

When she was young, the Winter Soldier had been the most feared operative ever to come out of the Red Room program. But to Natasha, he'd been her teacher as they sent her into the world to hone her skills. The Winter Soldier killed from a distance; the Black Widow up close, intimate. No one could escape them when they were together.

The Winter Soldier's hands slid up Natasha's back, pulling her down to him. "Stop thinking," he said breathlessly. "You make me afraid you have somewhere else to be."

Natasha kissed him until her head spun. "This is the only place I want to be," she whispered, catching his lip in her teeth. "Now, are you going to lie there and make me do all the work?"

With a growl, the Winter Soldier rolled them, putting Natasha underneath him. She barely had time to catch her breath before he centred himself between her thighs and pushed in deep.

The change in position was just what Natasha wanted; the pressure and friction as he moved inside her, the weight of his body on hers, the way he breathed out her name with every thrust. She dug her nails into the Winter Soldier's back, coming apart with a breathless cry.

The Winter Soldier swore as he climaxed, his left hand gripping her hip almost too tight for a moment. Then he collapsed on her, breathing fast.

Natasha closed her eyes. Her breathing was only slightly hindered by the weight of the man on top of her. Still, she didn't ask him to move. How many times in the last thirteen years had she dreamed of this? Only it had been more nightmare than dream, craving the touch of a man long dead.

But through miracle or design, he'd come back to her.

Natasha was under no illusion that she'd be able to keep this man at her side. Whatever had brought him to New York would likely separate them into opposite sides, and sooner rather than later.

She could be forgiven for wanting to live in this dream, for only a little while.

After a few minutes, the Winter Soldier shifted off Natasha. He reached to turn off the bedside lamp, then curled back up along her side, his metal arm tucked under his head. Natasha reached for the blanket as she snuggled in to the curve of his body, his natural arm settling over her waist.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" the Winter Soldier asked quietly.

Natasha made a sound of agreement in her throat. She was so warm, and sleep was already pulling at her. Playing the odds over in her head, even given the history she had with the Winter Soldier and the unknown elements in his reappearance in New York, she was probably safer in his bed than trying to catch a taxi back into the city in this neighbourhood at this time of night.

Natasha fell asleep to the soft sound of the Winter Soldier breathing. She'd missed this.

She woke twice in the night, once briefly when a police car drove by the building, siren screeching. The other time, she was pulled back to consciousness when the Winter Soldier got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Natasha lay still, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, until he returned. The man slid under the blankets and huddled against Natasha.

"What time is it?" Natasha asked sleepily.

"Nearly three."

"Can I stay longer?"

He held her close, breathing softly on her cheek. "Always."

* * *

When she woke the next time, it was still dark, but the sounds outside had changed, the bustle of activity signalling a return to the day in Brooklyn.

"Good morning," said the Winter Soldier. Natasha rolled over to find him lying on his side, watching her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sleep clinging to her. It had been a long time since she had slept so deeply. Not since the last time she'd had someone she trusted in her bed to keep her safe.

"Trying to figure out a way to freeze time," he said, resting his hand on her hip.

"Good luck with that," she said.

He smiled at her tone, then sobered. "Come away with me," he said. "We'll go somewhere they'll never find us, we'll start over."

Natasha sighed.

"We'll head north," he went on, almost desperately. "We can go to Montana and hop the border into Canada. We can find a city and pretend to be normal people—"

Natasha put her fingers over his lips. "Don't do this," she said, her heart breaking just a little. "Don't talk about things we can't have."

"Natalia, love—"

"Please." She kissed him to shut him up, because she could, and because she suspected now that this may be the last time.

When she pulled away, the Winter Soldier rolled over onto his back. "Don't you ever wonder what our lives would have been like if things were different?" he asked.

"Different how?"

He shrugged. "If things had gone differently in Odessa, for starters."

Natasha stared at him, incredulous. "That would be the thing you'd change?" she demanded. She shook her head. "If that had gone differently, you'd likely have died in that Siberian prison camp and I'd be lying in a shallow grave in Georgia." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "If you start second guessing your life, you're going to spend a lot of time in regrets."

She went naked into the bathroom, leaving the Winter Soldier to contemplate the ceiling. After taking care of the usual business, she stepped into the shower for a few minutes, to wash the stickiness of the night off her skin. When she was finished, she looked at herself in the mirror as she towelled dry. She quickly twisted her hair up off her face before wiping the makeup smudges from the corners of her eyes.

Then she ran her hand carefully down her body. Bruises were darkening along her right side, on her hip and her thigh, where the Winter Soldier had gripped her skin too tight with his metal hand. The largest of the bruises was already mottling yellow around the edges; with her advance healing it would likely be gone by the next morning. She didn't even get to keep that from him.

Natasha took a deep breath. It was time to face the day, and the reality of her life.

The Winter Soldier was sitting up on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. He'd pulled on his trousers but was still shirtless. "You're not being fair," Natasha said as she retrieved her panties from the floor.

The Winter Soldier frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"How am I supposed to be able to think when you're sitting there like that?"

His expression cleared when he realized she was teasing him. "This coming from a woman walking around naked," he said.

Natasha went over him and nudged his knees apart with her leg. "I thought you liked me naked," she said, standing against his body. She bent down to kiss him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.

What was supposed to be a goodbye kiss deepened, and Natasha had to fight herself to pull away instead of pushing the man to the bed again.

His eyes were dark as he kissed a line along her chest. He ran his lips over her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth. Natasha's breath caught in her throat at the sensation of his tongue. "I have to go," she said.

"So go," he said, moving his attention to her other breast. Involuntarily, Natasha's fingers curled in his hair, holding his head in place. She jumped as he bit down, then immediately soothed the mark with his tongue.

"Please," she said in a whisper, not sure what she wanted from him. He stilled before pulling back slowly. She dipped her head to give him one last kiss, the warmth of his mouth on hers a memory she knew she would treasure.

Reluctantly, Natasha stepped away from him. It took her a moment to find her bra, thrown across the room the previous night. Her socks and jeans were easier, lying in a heap by the side of the bed. Her phone was still in her jeans pocket.

Her shirt was a different matter. She finally spotted it on the room's small table, half-hiding the collection of metal objects and newspapers.

She had some line on the tip of her tongue to lighten the mood, something innocuous about the Winter Soldier's housekeeping skills, when she reached for her shirt and her fingers brushed something on the table, something metal, cold and burning at the same time. She knew instantly what she had touched, and she nearly gagged at the sudden churning in her stomach.

Naquada.

Everything in the world stopped and rewrote itself as Natasha pulled her shirt off the table and pushed the newspapers aside, to reveal a tangle of gold metal pieces and connecting cords, with a gleaming red gem in the center.

A _kara kesh_ , John had called it. A Goa'uld hand device.

An alien weapon in New York.

In the hands of the Winter Soldier.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Feeling as if this was some sort of horrible nightmare, Natasha turned to look at the Winter Soldier. He sat on the edge of the bed, only his eyes moving as he looked between Natasha and the kara kesh.

Adrenaline screaming through her veins, Natasha deliberately stepped away from the table. Memories of Belarus, of Seth, jumbled together with the Stargate program and John's description of the Goa'uld, an alien race that could take over anyone's body, use their memories, control their actions.

Infiltrate the enemy by _becoming_ the enemy.

Had the Goa'uld gotten to the Winter Soldier?

Natasha hadn't felt any naquada in the man, not like she had with former Goa'uld host Colonel Samantha Carter, but hadn't John said that the Goa'uld had to be in a host for some time before anyone could sense it?

She couldn't remember, couldn't _think_.

The Winter Soldier stared at Natasha, unblinking.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry she nearly choked. If a Goa'uld had control of the Winter Soldier, literally no one was safe. With his skills and knowledge, an alien could do anything, target anyone, anywhere, anytime.

The more primal part of Natasha's mind was enraged. She'd only just gotten the Winter Soldier back from the dead, only to have him ripped away from her again.

It wasn't fair.

As Natasha stood by the table, trying to think, the Winter Soldier stood up. He crossed the floor, bare feet silent on the tile. "Is everything all right?" he asked. His voice was low and deep and nothing at all like the metallic terror that still haunted her dreams of Seth.

Natasha nodded wordlessly. The Winter Soldier's eyes were the same as always, blue-grey and clear.

A dull ache settled in her chest, not unlike the grief she'd felt after she'd realized the Winter Soldier was dead. She had thought that nothing could hurt as much as that loss, but no, this was so much worse, because for a few wonderful hours she'd been under the delusion that she'd actually gotten her Winter Soldier back.

But she was the Black Widow. No matter what she lost, grief would not keep her from doing her job.

"Everything's fine," Natasha said, giving the man a small smile. Quickly, she pulled on her shirt. "I just need to get going, that's all."

He must have seen her reaction to the kara kesh, how could he not? Yet he said nothing, just looked at her with those wide eyes.

Briskly, Natasha stepped into her boots and picked her bag up off the floor, ready to leave.

"So that's it," the Winter Soldier said slowly. "You leave as if nothing happened between us."

Natasha settled the bag's strap on her shoulder. "Did you honestly think it could have gone any other way?" she asked.

He didn't respond. Natasha knew she needed to leave, to run, to find a space to think about what was going on. Was the Winter Soldier a Goa'uld, and she just couldn't sense it? If he wasn't, why did he have a Goa'uld weapon in his apartment?

And why had he appeared in New York to track her down, now? The scars on his shoulder he'd gotten from breaking out of the stasis chamber, while still red, were months old. Where had he been in the meantime?

Natasha closed the distance between them. She touched his arm, his bare chest, trying to sense any hint of naquada under his skin.

He covered her hands with his. The cold touch of his metal hand made her focus like nothing else. Whatever else was happening, the Winter Soldier was alive. If he was a Goa'uld… given that Samantha Carter was a _former_ host, there was still hope that Natasha could get him back.

And if he wasn't a host, but instead working with a Goa'uld, well… there was the mission to consider.

This time, when Natasha kissed the Winter Soldier goodbye, her eyes were open.

She left him standing in the middle of the apartment, watching her leave. Once she was out the door, she didn't look back.

* * *

She found a taxi idling at the corner, a minor miracle in Brooklyn on this side of six o'clock. The driver took the address without a reaction and turned the cab toward the city. He had the radio tuned to a classic-rock station and he sang along in broken English, his Ukrainian accent thick on the words.

In spite of the temperature, Natasha opened the window a crack as they passed over the bridge, letting in the brackish harbor air. The cold didn't help her jumbled thoughts.

Traffic grew thicker as they hit the city, but the driver took a few shortcuts and had her in front of Stark Tower before the sun had begun to show itself over the buildings.

Natasha paid the driver with a handful of cash and stepped out of the cab. She hesitated on the sidewalk. There was no point in trying to hide where she lived; even a cursory amount of surveillance would have told the Winter Soldier that, which he was sure to have done before he found her in the park. Natasha wasn't stupid enough to think that meeting had been an accident.

Natasha had no idea what the man's mission was, but she wasn't about to make it easy for him.

She fobbed her way into the building, using her security access code to get into the private elevator to the penthouse suites. Once the doors closed, she called, "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis replied promptly.

"Is anyone around?"

"Indeed, Agent Romanoff. While Captain Rogers and Thor are out for an early morning run, and Agent Barton is not expected back from SHIELD until later this morning, both Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are in their respective suites."

"Pepper isn't here?" Natasha thought she remembered some comment from Tony about Pepper dropping in for a few days during the week.

"Ms. Potts' plans for a visit to New York have been delayed," Jarvis explained. "Continued fall-out from the Mandarin incident has necessitated a trip to from Los Angeles to London. Mr. Stark expects her to stop in on her return flight."

At least Pepper was out of things. That was one less complication. "Jarvis, can you please take me to Bruce's floor?"

Instantly, the elevator began to rise. "As you wish, Agent."

Bruce was a better choice, Natasha tried to reassure herself. He could be calm about things this early in the morning. And it was highly unlikely that the Winter Soldier's mission would involve Bruce Banner in any way.

The same could not be said about Tony Stark. After the Mandarin incident at Christmas and the ongoing dismantling of AIM, there were more people than ever gunning for Iron Man.

If the Winter Soldier thought he could use Natasha to get to Tony, he'd quickly learn the error of his thinking.

The elevator doors opened onto Bruce's entrance hall. Natasha exited the elevator and waited for the doors to close before she said, "Jarvis, disable my access in the Tower and to all Stark computers."

"Are you certain, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis asked.

"Yes," Natasha confirmed. As she spoke, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and placed it on the ground by the wall, out of the way. She might be overreacting, but given the revelations of the morning, she had no way of knowing if the Winter Soldier would come at her in Stark Tower. If he did, he'd have planned a way to get inside, and she could not let herself be used like that.

"Done," Jarvis said crisply. "Shall I contact SHIELD with a similar request to their networks?"

"I can't access the SHIELD servers from here any more, can I?"

"No, all access for Agent Natasha Romanoff has been terminated," Jarvis reported. "Only Mr. Stark can reactivate security access for you."

"That's fine, then," Natasha said. She took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"And I took the liberty of notifying Dr. Banner that you are dropping by," Jarvis added. "Given the nature of your request, I thought it might be prudent that he was already awake."

"That's considerate of you," Natasha murmured as the door to Bruce's apartment swung open, and a sleep-rumpled Bruce Banner looked out.

"Natasha?" he said, blinking at her. "Jarvis said you needed some help?"

"In a way," Natasha said, feeling the weight of the last thirteen hours (thirteen years?) pressing down on her. "Can I use your bathtub?"

Bruce frowned, but he was waking up now, looking over her with the laser-sharp attention that made him so brilliant. "Sure," was all he said, holding the door for her.

Natasha had been in Bruce's suite before, and the place looked much the same now, a mix of austerity and absentmindedness; books in piles, notepads lying on any available surface, clothes scattered on the floor. On one of the many bookcases, a small framed photograph showed a smiling woman Natasha knew to be Betty Ross.

Natasha took in the details automatically, the way she did on any mission. Some may say that hypervigilance was a bad habit to carry around, but that was how Natasha had been trained to conduct herself.

Until she knew what the Winter Soldier was up to, she would not let her guard down.

Her insides seized up at the memory of naquada in the Winter Soldier's rooms, then deeper, to the bar of naquada under the mountain in Colorado, to Samantha Carter, to Seth, and back again.

Natasha pushed that destructive cycle down. She didn't bother to see what Bruce was doing, just made a beeline to his bathroom. Tony, in a fit of either genius or madness, had rebuilt the bathroom on this floor with a Hulk-sized bathtub. In spite of everything, Natasha sighed a little. Tony was so… Tony.

Natasha stepped fully clothed into the bathtub and turned on the faucets as far as they would go. She sat down in the growing pool of water and pulled her knees up to her chest. She was so tired, and she didn't know when she would be able to rest.

After a few minutes, Natasha became aware that Bruce had settled down on the tiled floor beside the bathtub. He was watching her carefully.

The huge tub was nearly full when Bruce finally spoke. "What happened?"

"Why do you assume something happened?" Natasha asked.

"Besides the fact that you're sitting in my bathtub ruining your favorite jacket?" Bruce asked. "Last night you text Clint to say you had some personal business, and this morning you've got bruises on your neck."

Natasha touched the back of her neck, just under her hairline. She hadn't even felt those bruises that morning in the shower. It wasn't like the Winter Soldier to be rough enough to leave visible marks on her skin.

"And now," Bruce went on, "Instead of going up to your place, you're hiding in my room with a potential Hulk between you and whoever you think is going to come through that door."

Natasha stared at Bruce, for the first time considering what this must look like from his perspective.

Now she was doubly glad she'd stayed away from Tony.

"I can explain," Natasha said, reaching to turn off the taps. "Just one thing first."

Before Bruce could say anything, Natasha took a deep breath and slid under the water. She let the water cover her completely before she started counting in the sudden silence. Thirty, forty, fifty…. When she hit sixty, she sat up again, wiping water out of her eyes.

Bruce was staring at her with something close to alarm.

"Listening devices," Natasha explained. She reached under the water to remove her waterlogged boots. "A minute submerged usually kills any bug. If not, nothing short of electrocution will do it.

Bruce ran his hand though his hair, making it stand on end. "So all of this is a work thing?" he asked.

"You think I have a non-work life?" Natasha asked. She struggled to remove her jacket, made difficult by the stiffness of the wet leather.

"I'll get you some clothes," Bruce said tactfully. "And then we'll discuss how you didn't answer my question."

By the time Bruce returned, Natasha had shed her wet clothing and was standing by the mirror, a towel wrapped around her torso. She'd found a comb on the counter and was in the process of combing out her wet hair.

"Is this some sort of spy thing too?" Bruce asked, setting the folded clothing on the edge of the counter.

Natasha slid the comb through another lock of hair. "Some tracking devices can be small enough to be placed unnoticed in the hair of the target," she said.

Bruce leaned against the counter and looked down at the submerged clothing floating in the tub. "That's insane," he pointed out.

"He's not exactly a normal person," Natasha said, concentrating on a tangle.

"Who are you up against?" Bruce asked.

Natasha finished combing out the last section of her hair. There had been no trackers, not that she had been expecting any. She'd been waiting for Bruce to ask this question and she didn't know what to say.

Before the Avengers, Natasha would have handled the Winter Soldier on her own, keeping SHIELD and especially Clint and Coulson out of things. But it was different now. Now, she had a team full of alpha males who wouldn't let her go this one alone.

And maybe she didn't want to, this time.

And John. As much as it worried her to bring him into this, her son needed to know about the possibility of a Goa'uld on Earth. Even if that Goa'uld was the Winter Soldier.

 _Especially_ if that Goa'uld was the Winter Soldier.

Natasha set down the comb and looked at Bruce's reflection in the mirror. "It's complicated," she said.

"Luckily, I'm a smart guy," he told her.

Natasha shook her head. "Can we just do one thing first?" she asked as she pushed off the counter.

"What?"

"Can you help me look for other tracking devices?" she asked, indicating at her clothing, still soaking in the bathtub.

"You think there's something you haven't found yet?"

"I'd be more worried if there wasn't," she said as she went over to the clean clothes Bruce had brought her. "Do you mind?"

Bruce made no move to leave the room. Fine, Natasha thought. She dropped the towel and picked up the sweatpants, stepping into them neatly. Bruce was looking her over, but clinically, even though he wasn't really that kind of doctor. Natasha knew what he saw; the hand-shaped bruises on her hip and her waist, the finger marks on her neck. She didn't care what Bruce saw, and she wondered if she was more tired than she'd thought.

Bruce didn't speak until Natasha had pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

Natasha sighed. "Bruce, it's fine."

"It's just that if anyone ever treated Betty like that, I'd be getting more than a little green."

Natasha pulled her wet hair through the collar of the t-shirt. "Bruce, really, it's okay," she told him. The men on her team were great, but they were men, and sometimes they fixated on the most predictable things. "Really. The sex was the least complicated part of my night." She held out her hand to Bruce. "Come on," she said. "This shouldn't take long."

Bruce took Natasha's hand and stood. Gently, he squeezed her hand before letting it go. "If you're really okay, why did you put me between you and the door?" he asked again.

Natasha looked up into his worried face. She had done exactly that. And she could at least give Bruce the courtesy of admitting it.

"Because it would have been a hell of a time to be wrong about that," she said.

"It might get that bad?" Bruce asked.

"I did say it was complicated," Natasha reminded him. She lifted the sodden heap of clothing into the laundry hamper and picked that up.

"Come on down to the lab," Bruce said. "It'll be easier to figure it out." He led Natasha out of the apartment and into the hall. Once there, he spotted her phone lying by the wall. He gave her a look.

"That might be compromised," Natasha said. "There may be data on it I need. Even a Stark phone can't stand up to a complete submersion."

"Yet," Bruce amended as he picked the phone off the ground. "That's on the fall schedule for hardware upgrades. Don't tell Tony I told you." He hit the elevator button for the lab floor.

The elevator didn't move.

"Please provide valid voiceprint for laboratory access, Dr. Banner," Jarvis requested.

"What are you talking about?" Bruce demanded.

"Voiceprint accepted," Jarvis said smoothly, and the elevator began to sink. "Apologies for the delay, but Internal Security Protocol Number 71 has been implemented."

"What?" Bruce looked at Natasha. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked.

"I asked Jarvis to cut off my access to the building, just in case," Natasha said. "That's all."

"That alone wouldn't have activated any security protocols," Bruce said as the elevator door opened on the lab floor.

Tony Stark stood in front of them, and he looked pissed.

"I thought you were going to bed," Bruce said, walking past Tony to one of the scanning units.

"I was in bed, enjoying a lovely half hour of unconsciousness," Tony told him, "When all of a sudden Jarvis tells me that everyone's favorite fräulein has gacked her security clearance and landed on Bruce's doorstep."

"I know," Bruce said, beckoning Natasha over with the laundry hamper. "I was there. What's up with the security measures?"

With a patented Stark glare, Tony hopped up on the bench beside Bruce. "When the scariest spy living under my roof burns her access and runs to hide behind the Hulk—"

"That wasn't what happened," Natasha snapped. "And don't ever call me fräulein again."

Tony ignored the interruption. "That's when paranoid old me gets a little nervous," he said. "Hence security protocol 71. It's new." He looked at them expectantly. "So why'd you do it? Lose your wallet?"

Natasha pushed her drying hair over her shoulder. Bruce was busy spreading out the clothing on the scanning table, and obviously had no intention of engaging with Tony. Fine. "What's security protocol 71?" Natasha asked.

Tony leaned back to grab a granola bar off the top of the desk. "Valid voiceprint for any access point in the tower except inside personal suites, for starters," he said as he unwrapped the granola bar. "Then valid iris scans for any computer access anywhere in the tower except the labs. Hungry?" He held the granola bar out to Natasha, who shook her head.

"Why?"

"In case whatever you're running from decides to come after you at home," Tony said seriously. "I know I learned my lesson against giving out my home address to terrorists, but given the nature of your crazy spy work, I didn't want to take a chance."

Natasha looked down. She'd seen the footage of the Mandarin's helicopter attack on Tony's house in Malibu. She knew what Tony and Pepper had been through with Aldrich Killian and Extremis. "If I honestly thought he would come at me here, I wouldn't have come back," she told Tony.

"You should," Tony said. "This place is the best defensive location in these United States. With the possible exception of the Helicarrier, and trust me when I say that Stark Tower has better tax implications."

Natasha glanced at Bruce, who was methodically scanning her clothing on the table. "He won't come at me here," she said after a minute. "Not just yet."

Tony stared at Natasha for a moment, then slid off the table to join Bruce. "What are you looking for?"

"A tracking or listening device," Bruce told Tony as he spread out Natasha's jeans on the glass.

"That's sort of old school, isn't it?" Tony said, pushing Natasha's wet shirt out of the way. His hand hesitated over Natasha's rumpled underwear as he raised his head to look Natasha in the eye.

"Tony," Natasha said in warning.

"I do hope you realize what a sign of personal growth this is," Tony said. "This restraint."

"You call this restraint?"

Tony finally snapped. "Come on," he said. "The Black Widow, seductress and spy extraordinaire, wears _granny panties_?"

Natasha snatched the underwear out from under Tony's hand. "Are you twelve?" she demanded. Getting annoyed with Tony was familiar, and a welcome distraction from the confusion in her head about the Winter Soldier.

"I thought standard issue spy wear would include some lace, maybe something in a thong," Tony said, prudently backing away.

Natasha went after him. In her bare feet, dressed in Bruce's overly-large gym wear, Natasha felt vulnerable in ways she hadn't since Loki's attack on Earth. Focusing on Tony centered her, not that she was proud of it. "You're a guy, Tony, you tell me," she said. Tony had the good sense to look a little worried. "If a man was in a situation where he got to see me in my underwear, do you really think that something like this," and she brandished the underwear, "Is going to be a deal-breaker?"

Tony backed into Dummy, who made an injured squawk and lifted his claw in confusion. Tony cleared his throat. "As a disinterested third party, I'm going to say unlikely," he said. "But as, well, me, I'm doing to decline to answer on the grounds that Pepper could literally set me on fire if I answered."

"That is probably wise, sir," Jarvis broke in. "Captain Rogers and Thor have returned from their run and are on their way to the laboratory."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at Tony. "Nice timing," she said.

Tony spread his hands wide. "Did I mention that security protocol 71 calls for a recall of all active Avenger personnel to base?"

"Of course it does," Natasha muttered. She tossed the balled-up underwear onto the scanning table out of the way. Part of her wished that she could un-involve the rest of her team in this, but any hope of that had vanished the moment she walked back into Stark Tower.

If Natasha had truly wanted to handle this on her own, she should have run as soon as she'd left the Winter Soldier.

She still wasn't sure why she hadn't.

The lab door opened and the blond duo of Steve Rogers and Thor spilled into the room. "Report?" Steve demanded, his presence commanding even in sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt.

Tony pointed at Natasha. "Spy business," he said, and shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth.

Steve looked at Natasha. "What happened?" he asked. "Clint indicated that you had a date last night?"

"His exact words were ‘looks like Nat got lucky'," Tony pitched in with a raised eyebrow.

Any other day, Natasha would have been annoyed at Clint's editorializing of her life, but today was not any other day. "Luck had nothing to do with it, Stark."

A sudden ping came from Bruce's station, drawing everyone's attention. "Looks like Natasha wasn't wrong after all," he said as he picked up the sleeve of Natasha's jacket. With a pair of tweezers, he picked apart the seam before removing a small metal object.

"Jackpot," Tony said.

Steve frowned. "You were bugged? Who did it?"

Natasha watched Bruce laid the device on a tray next to the microscope. "He knew I'd expect to find it," she said slowly. "Maybe he thought I'd stop looking once I found that one."

She didn't bother to wonder when the Winter Soldier had slipped the bug into her jacket. The man had spent decades elevating stealth to an art-form; he could have planted it at any time when Natasha was sleeping, or in the shower. Even while holding her hand on the subway.

"Do you want me to keep looking?" Bruce asked.

Natasha shook her head. This bug was window dressing, nothing more. The Winter Soldier knew her too well to think he could fool her with this. "Don't bother," she said. "There's something else going on, he's got something else planned."

"Natasha," Steve started to say, when they were interrupted by the lab door flying open as Clint Barton rushed in.

"What's happening?" he demanded. "What's with the emergency recall?"

Natasha took a deep breath. There was no going back now. "It's the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier is in New York."

A beat of silence, then Thor asked, "Who is the Winter Soldier?"

His question was brushed aside as Clint surged forward. He was pale, his lips white. "You said he was dead," Clint shot at her.

"Clint—"

"When you joined SHIELD, you told us that monster was dead!" Clint's voice rose as he took another step forward, getting in Natasha's personal space.

She stood her ground, glaring up at Clint. "Ten years ago, I thought he was dead."

"And what, he got better?" Clint put his hands on his hips. Natasha wasn't sure if he was consciously trying to intimidate her; her money was on _not,_ because Clint wasn't normally that stupid. "You told Coulson that you'd left the Winter Soldier dead and dismembered in a Romanian morgue, how exactly does someone get a reboot on that?"

Natasha clenched her fists at her sides, trying to breathe over the remembered stench of death and decay from the morgue. "I saw his body," she said. "He was in pieces."

"Apparently not!"

Those words, from someone who should have had Natasha's back, pushed her beyond what she could bear. "Have you ever seen the body of someone you loved torn apart?" Natasha stepped forward, getting in Clint's face. He moved back involuntarily. "How about someone you trusted, someone you _needed_ , ripped into pieces and left for the vermin?"

"Natasha," Clint tried to say, but now that the words were coming, Natasha didn't know how to stop.

"The rats ate his face, Clint! The dogs spread his insides over half a city block! I saw what parts of him they could find, so when I told you ten years ago he was dead, he was to me!"

Thor got between them before Natasha could take another step toward Clint. Swallowing her fury, Natasha turned on her heel and stalked across the room, knowing it was useless to try to outrun her memories.

The sight of that body still haunted Natasha's nightmares. What she remembered most about the man's body, over the stench of decaying flesh, was what was left of the man's face. The rats had eaten most of the face, but for some reason they'd left part of an eyeball hanging out of the fleshless socket.

And only now did she know it wasn't the Winter Soldier on that slab.

"Why the hell did you think it was him?" Clint asked from behind Thor.

Natasha rested her hands on a metal railing on one of the server stacks. "The body had his arm," she said as she pressed her thumb against a sharp spot, waiting for the pain. "The body was the right size and shape. Someone went through a lot of trouble to fake his death."

"What does his arm have to do with anything?" Bruce asked.

"Rumor was that the Winter Soldier had some kind of cyborg arm," Clint said. "I take it that's true?"

Natasha didn't respond.

"Everyone, just hold on," Steve interrupted. "Who is the Winter Soldier?"

"The Boogey Man," Tony said, startling everyone. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Natasha. "The Winter Soldier was the one Soviet operative guaranteed to make the Americans shit their pants. No one knew anything about him, only that he started operating after the War ended."

"What do you know about it?" Clint asked.

"My dad had a file on him in some boxes SHIELD gave me a while back," Tony said. "Howard had been keeping it since rumors of the guy started to circle. No pictures, not even a description of what the man looked like. Just that wherever he went, people died."

"Were they sure it was the same man?" Bruce asked.

"According to the file, SHIELD thought so, but they had no way of figuring it out," Tony said. "Looking at the track record, Howard thought the M.O.s were too similar to be the work of different men."

Steve looked at Natasha. "Is that the case?"

She lifted her chin. "I've only ever known of one man with the Winter Soldier designation."

"What's his name?" Clint asked.

"He does not have a name."

"Oh yeah?" Clint shoved his hands into his pockets. "So what exactly do you call him when he's doing shit like that to your neck?"

Natasha glared at Clint. Of all the things for him to pick up on, and this was the issue he lifted to the top? "I don't need to call him anything," Natasha bit out, and gave Clint a venomous smile. "When I'm with him, I don't need to remind myself who I'm fucking."

"Hey!" Steve shouted before Clint could say anything. "This isn't helping! Everyone, back down! Natasha, are you okay?"

"Yes," Natasha said, still glaring at Clint.

"Is the Winter Soldier an immediate threat?" Steve asked.

Natasha turned her attention to Steve. In spite of herself, she was reminded of the Winter Soldier's insinuations of the relationship between her and Steve. _Focus,_ she told herself sternly. "I don't know," she admitted. "But there's another problem."

"What is that?" Steve asked over Tony's muttered swearing.

"The Winter Soldier had in his possession a kara kesh. One of the Goa'uld hand devices."

"What?" Tony exclaimed. "Is he a Goa'uld? Please don't tell me he's a Goa'uld."

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Tony demanded. "I'm assuming you didn't get those bruises playing Scrabble—"

"I don't—"

"You picked up on Sam Carter after a microsecond of physical contact!"

"Tony, damn it, I don't know!" Natasha shouted. "I didn't feel any naquada in him but I can't be sure!"

"Did he go all maniacal super-freak glowing eyes on you?"

Natasha resisted the urge to slap some sense into Tony. "If I'd seen that, when I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Stop it!" Steve ordered. "This isn't helping! If this Winter Soldier is as dangerous as Tony says—"

"He is," Clint interjected.

"And there's a risk that he might be a Goa'uld, then we need to involve SHIELD and Stargate Command right away," Steve finished. "Natasha, do you agree?"

Everyone except Bruce looked at Natasha. She straightened up to her full height, still inches shorter than everyone else in the room. "I do," she said firmly. "If he's a Goa'uld, he needs to be stopped as soon as possible."

"And if he's not?" Tony asked.

Clint made a noise in his throat. "If he's not a Goa'uld, I want to know what that son of a bitch is doing in New York." He reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'm going to call Hill."

"You might want to give that a minute," Bruce said from the scanning station. He had Natasha's phone up on a stand, wires connected to the device. "It looks like someone accessed Natasha's phone this morning after three incorrect password attempts."

"That wasn't me," Natasha said uneasily. What could the Winter Soldier have wanted with her phone?

"Could this guy have accessed any SHIELD files on it?" Tony asked.

"I don't keep anything of any importance downloaded on that phone," Natasha told him. "I need to enter a separate password to access files on the SHIELD network or on your servers."

Tony had already pulled up a holoscreen and was tapping away. "No one tried remote access into either network using your login this morning," he reported. "So, if he wasn't trying to get into the cloud, what was he up to?"

Bruce bent over the phone. "The only things accessed since midnight were the camera and the photo library."

Tony frowned at Natasha. "I always thought the first rule in secret spy stuff was to avoid letting your spy boyfriend take nude shots on your work phone," he said.

Natasha had heard enough. "Stark, if you don't stop it, I am going to start reacting in an unprofessional manner, do you understand me?"

There was a pause, then Tony replied "Understood," subsiding at Steve's glare.

"Can I pull the photo up?" Bruce asked.

"Go ahead," Natasha said. She felt raw and violated, having her past with the Winter Soldier laid bare before her team. Tony's jibes she could live with; she expected nothing else from him.

But Clint… while Natasha had expected him to react badly to the news that the Winter Soldier was alive, his visceral reaction and his distrust hurt.

Natasha steeled herself as Bruce tapped on the screen. "One photo was taken," he said, and swiped it up onto the big screen.

"Jesus Christ," Tony said with feeling. Natasha pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound.

It was a picture of an old black and white photograph, taken slightly off-centre. The child in the photograph wore a crisp uniform of Soviet design, her hair pulled into two long braids. She stood at attention, hands flat at her sides, one bootlace coming undone.

The child's expression was blank and cold. There were no visible wounds, but there was something wrong with the child's eyes.

There was death there.

"Natasha, is that you?" Steve asked, walking closer to the screen.

Natasha stared into the eyes of her past, remembering. Decades before, on a sticky-hot summer afternoon, the Winter Soldier had stood her against a wall in the Department X compound and taken that photo, two days after Natasha had killed a man for the first time.

She'd been assigned to accompany another agent to Moscow as the woman's daughter, to gather information about a man she'd been told was an enemy of the people. He had caught her going through his papers and had gone after her with a pistol. She'd killed him before he could kill her.

 _The only important thing is survival_ , the Winter Soldier had said to Natasha as he set up the camera. _Make_ _sure that whatever happened, you can walk away and your enemy cannot._

 _What happens if you can't?_ Natasha had asked, still able to feel the recoil of the pistol in her hand.

 _If you cannot, you die_ , the Winter Soldier snapped at her. He knelt down to her height and focused the camera. _If you're going to die so easily, what's the point of living?_

She'd been glaring at the Winter Soldier, angry and scared and on the edge of tears she couldn't shed, when he took her picture.

This picture.

 _I didn't know it would be this way_ , Natasha admitted when he stood up.

_Like what?_

_So… Horrible, to kill a man._

The Winter Soldier looked down at her, so much taller than she had been as a child. _After a while, it stops being so bad,_ he promised.

 _How is that better?_ she asked, letting the man guide her back into the building.

 _Because otherwise, you will be the one who is dead, and that would be far worse,_ he told her. _Come on. I'm going to teach you how to fire a rifle that is taller than you are._ He'd cuffed the back of her head affectionately as she trotted along at his side. _That will make you feel better._

It had.

"How old were you?" Clint asked, drawing Natasha back to the present.

She swallowed hard, pushing the memories into history. "I think I was eleven or twelve."

"You don't remember when this was taken?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know how old I am," Natasha said, not willing to look away from the photo. "I didn't realize he kept this."

"Why would the Winter Soldier put such a picture onto your phone?" Thor asked. "Why not give it to you himself?"

Natasha knew exactly why. The act of taking the picture, decades ago in Russia, had been one of the Winter Soldier's object lessons on survival. Putting it on her phone in modern-day New York was a lesson of a different sort. "It's a reminder," Natasha said. "To make sure I remember where I came from. Who I am."

"Yes, well, ‘who you are' isn't eleven anymore," Tony said. He swiped at the screen and the photo mercifully disappeared. "What else did this creep do with the phone?"

"He accessed four photos in the library," Bruce said. "Then according to the logs, he turned the phone off."

"Let's see them," Tony said with a snap of the fingers.

Bruce looked at Natasha for permission. She gave a small nod.

The first photo that appeared was the most recent one Natasha had taken, a shot of the sun setting over Central Park. "Interesting composition," Tony remarked as the next photo slid onto the screen, a candid from the lab taken before Natasha left on her most recent mission. In it, Bruce was smiling sheepishly, while in the background Tony hung off Dummy's recently repaired chassis, making an obscene gesture with his hand. Deeper in the room, the Iron Man armor was visible.

The picture changed again, showing Clint making a face at an oddly shaped vegetable in Chinatown, taken in February when he and Natasha had gone for dim sum.

"I'd have thought there'd be more spy stuff," Tony said.

"I don't take a lot of photos," Natasha said. "It's a bad habit to get in."

And then the photo changed again. This was another candid shot she'd taken on a sunny day in the penthouse of Stark Tower, this time of Steve. He had been drawing, seemingly unaware of Natasha and her camera. His sketch pad was propped up on his knee, pencil held at attention. He'd bit his lower lip and his forehead was slightly furrowed. The sunlight cast Steve's hair in a thousand shades of gold.

Natasha had secretly thought that Steve looked particularly handsome in the photo, less the military bravado of Captain America and more like just… Steve.

"The phone's access log says that this photo was viewed for about three minutes before going back to the home screen and being turned off," Bruce said.

"I assume you weren't the one looking at the photos," Steve asked Natasha.

"Not me," she replied. Natasha didn't know why the Winter Soldier had looked through her photos, or why he'd spent so long on the image of Steve. It made her uneasy.

Clint made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "I'm going to call SHIELD," he said, stalking out of the lab.

"Are you going to go after him?" Tony asked Natasha.

She shook her head. She knew Clint well enough to know that if she said anything to him in this mood, he would twist her meaning, and they would end up in an argument if not an actual fight. She'd deal with Clint later.

If they had a ‘later'.

"I'm going to contact my son," Natasha said. "His people need to know about the Goa'uld."

"I'll go with you," Tony offered.

"What the hell for?"

"Um, because you're the one who stranded herself in this building without any access?" Tony pointed out. "Bruce has to finish whatever he'd doing with your phone and these other two need to shower before Very Special Agent Maria Hill and the SHIELD coterie descend."

"Why that division of labor, Stark?" Steve asked.

"Because Bruce likes tinkering with my stuff," Tony said. "And fine, don't shower. If the Winter Soldier attacks the Tower, you can knock him out with your superhero stench."

Tony took Natasha's arm and swept her out of the lab before Steve could sputter out more than a protest. Thor just laughed.

"You get to give lectures on personal hygiene now?" Natasha asked.

"Of course I do," Tony said. "I'll have you know that periods of involuntary confinement aside, I shower quite regularly. Blame Pepper."

"I'm sure she'd love to take credit for that," Natasha said dryly.

Tony gave his voiceprint to get them into the elevator, then down to Natasha's floor. "Can I ask you something?" he asked as they crossed the floor to her door.

"You're going to anyway," Natasha said, waiting for Tony to get the door open. "Stop wasting time."

Tony waited until they were in the apartment and the door closed. "So, I didn't want to say anything in front of the guys."

"Whatever happened to Cap's push for full disclosure?" Natasha asked.

Tony leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her. "It's about that file my dad had on the Winter Soldier," he said. "I didn't want to tell Steve, but most of the early intel was collected by an old war friend of Howard's. Peggy Carter."

"I know of her," Natasha said evenly.

"Apparently she and Steve had a thing before he went into the ice," Tony went on. "Not important. Anyway, a lot of the intel from the file in the late fifties and sixties talked about the Winter Soldier having a partner to do the stuff he didn't. Sort of like the ying to his yang. The Scooby Do to his Shaggy." Tony twitched his nose. "The Boris to his Natasha."

Natasha breathed in for a moment. It occurred to her, in the deepest corner of her mind, that she and Tony were very alone in this room, and he was defenseless out of the suit. She pushed the thought away. "You've been holding on to the Boris and Natasha joke for a while now, haven't you?" she said.

"Last November, actually," Tony admitted. "And that was so not an answer to my question."

"There was a question somewhere in all that?" Natasha went over to her dresser and began to look for clothing for the day. Something comfortable, yet in power colors, she decided. An interrogation by SHIELD would not make her day any more tolerable.

"You want a question? Fine, here it is. Who killed all those people in the Winter Soldier file?" Tony asked.

Natasha kept her movements deliberate and even. She could dissemble, avoid the question, or even lie, but what was the point? There were some times when hiding the truth was more dangerous that telling it outright.

If she was honest with Tony now, she would be more likely to get him on her side if the revelation came out to the rest of the team. If Tony knew in advance, and Steve started to make a fuss, Tony might take Natasha's side out of pure mulishness.

"Mostly, it was him," Natasha said, unfolding a dark green blouse onto the bed. "But he didn't always work alone."

A minute of silence filled the room. "You," Tony stated.

"Yes." Natasha looked Tony straight in the eyes. "That's what you need to know going in. That file your dad and Peggy Carter put together? I'm in there. Not by name and probably not anything more than an outline, but I'm in there. Same as he is."

"Does John know about this?" Tony asked.

"Do you mean the details of that time?" she asked. "I don't know how he could. But he knows about me. He knows what the Black Widow has done."

Tony rubbed his hand over his chin in agitation. "But how—"

"How could I tell him?" Natasha finished for Tony. She walked around the bed and looked directly at Tony. "I didn't. He spent years in the field when I was active. He was black ops, did you know that?"

"Not officially," Tony hedged.

"Did he ever tell you how I died?"

"He said there was a car accident."

Natasha took a breath, and hoped that this wouldn't backfire on her. "I had to make it look like John had been thrown free of the car before I set it on fire."

At this close distance, Natasha saw Tony's pupils dilate slightly as he took in her words. "There was a body in that car," he blurted out.

"I did what I had to do to protect my son from people who would see him dead for my actions. Do you understand?"

"Wow," Tony said, stepping away as he ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, shit, you win at being terrifying, all right?"

"John knows who I am," Natasha said again, going over to the dresser. "I wouldn't have wanted this for him, but this is what he was born to. Sometimes we have no choice in what we do."

"Jesus," Tony muttered. "And here I thought Sheppard's main claim to fame was looking good in a Speedo."

"Not appropriate, Stark," Natasha said as she picked up her bundle of clothing. "I'm going to shower before SHIELD gets here. I'll call John later."

"How much later?"

"When I figure out how to explain this," Natasha said. "You can leave."

"No, I think I'll stay," Tony said, hopping onto her bed. "Oh, this is nice. Comfy."

Natasha shook her head, too tired for whip up any more annoyance at Tony. "Stay out of my underwear drawer," was all she had left as a parting shot.

Her third shower of the morning. Natasha doubted she'd feel any cleaner after this one. But at least this time, Natasha had her own soap, her own shampoo, and the soft familiarity of her bath towels. The hot water stung her bruises, but she didn't make a sound at the pain. The chatter in her head was so much worse.

It all boiled down to one salient, painful point.

She was going to have to betray the Winter Soldier.

She didn't see how she could avoid it. If the man was a Goa'uld, she'd have to give up her knowledge of the man to stop the alien within. If he wasn't a Goa'uld, he had a mission that she would have to stop.

She'd cast her lot in with SHIELD years before, with Phil Coulson and Clint Barton. One of those men was dead, and the other furious with her.

But what else was there? SHIELD on one side, the Winter Soldier and a short life and a bullet to the back of the head on the other.

Her heart ached. She didn't want it to end this way, but she couldn't see a future that had her and the Winter Soldier together, alive. SHIELD wasn't likely to give him the same deal they'd given her ten years before. Even if she could find someone willing to stand up for the Winter Soldier, Coulson wasn't around to make that call anymore.

Natasha couldn't let herself imagine a happy ending with the Winter Soldier. What could that even look like? Him living with her, here in Stark Tower? Eating breakfast in the big kitchen, smiling at her over a cup of coffee? Going for walks in Central Park in the summertime? Showering together, holding him under the warm spray of the water, his hands on her waist, kissing her gently as he murmured her name…

The warmth on her cheeks wasn't from the shower. Angrily, she wiped the tears away. There was no point in crying over the Winter Soldier, not again. She'd shed tears for the man years before. It wouldn't change what she would have to do about him.

Natasha stepped out of the shower as soon as the conditioner was rinsed from her hair. Tony was probably still lurking about, so she wrapped a towel around herself and set about blow-drying her hair.

If she was going to be subject to a SHIELD interrogation for the rest of the day, she may as well look good doing it.

Hair finished, Natasha dressed and quickly put on her makeup. Not much, just mascara and eyeliner and lipstick to make a point to everyone. She dressed, and with one final look in the mirror, Natasha left the bathroom.

Tony was in the kitchen, and from the tone of his voice, he was on the phone. "No, she's fine," Tony was saying, his back to Natasha. She leaned against the archway to listen in.

"I know she's always fine," Tony continued after a minute. "She'd not bleeding, just some bruises. No, I didn't ask how she got them— oh come on, how likely do you think it is that she'd let anyone pound on her without beating back?"

Natasha could almost hear the sputtering on the other end of the line.

"When you put it that way, yes, I did just make a 'your mom' joke, so what?" Tony snapped.

Natasha wanted to sigh. Of course Tony had lost patience and called John before she had the chance.

"Well, I'm pretty sure they spent part of the night knocking boots; she looks a lot more relaxed in spite of everything. But whatever, Mommy's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

Tony turned as he said this last bit, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted Natasha.

"Huh. Okay, look, Sheppard, end story is that we've bad spy shit going down, your mother's freaking out, so can you please put on your big girl panties and get out here? It's a matter of planetary security and I'm not just saying that because it rolls off the tongue."

Natasha held out her hand for the phone, but Tony backed away.

"Fine, I'm asking you nicely, pretty please with a cherry on top. Are you going to come or not?" A beat, then, "Good, I'll order pizza."

Tony ended the call and threw the phone at Natasha.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"What? I saved you some time, he'll be here this afternoon."

"Why did you call him?"

"I got bored," Tony explained. "All your books are in Russian and since you told me that I couldn't go through your sock drawer—"

"Underwear drawer!"

"—I needed to kill some time," Tony finished. "What did I do that was so wrong?"

Natasha shook her head and went over to the kitchenette. She wasn't hungry in the least, but she knew that if this day got as complicated as she suspected it would, she would need to keep her energy up.

"Look, all I'm saying is that John should know a bit about what he's walking in to," Tony said as he seated himself at the small table. "Especially when it comes to you."

Natasha poured water into her coffee machine. "What exactly would you know about it?" she asked.

Tony absently fiddled with the salt shaker. "I'm not saying that the man's got mommy issues, but you're a bit of a sore point with him. Always have been."

While the coffee brewed, Natasha pulled a container of cold leftovers out of the fridge. "So you decided to volunteer personal details of the situation to my son," she said.

"Gives him time to put on his game face," Tony said. He unscrewed the cap on the salt shaker and batted it around the table with his fingers.

Natasha plucked a fork from the dish rack and sat at the table across from Tony. She took a mouthful of leftovers, chewed, and swallowed before asking, "What's going on between the two of you?"

Tony looked Natasha right in the eye and said, "Nothing at all."

"Tony."

With quick movements, Tony recapped the salt shaker. "Like I said before, why don't you ask Sheppard?"

"I did ask him. Now I'm asking you."

For a few minutes, the room was silent, save for the percolating burble of the coffee maker. Then Tony cleared his throat. "Why should I tell you anything, you'll just take his side."

"This isn't about sides, Tony. It's about knowing what happened."

Tony got up and went to the coffee machine. "Really? Because if you were my mother, I'd really rather you take my side on this."

"If I was your mother, what happened between you and John would technically have been incest," Natasha pointed out.

Tony paused with a coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "The inside of your head must be a disturbing place."

"Tony."

"Fine." Tony took a fortifying slurp from the mug. "What do you want to hear? That me and John had a thing in college?"

"If that's the truth."

"Well, it is. Then we drifted apart, it happens."

 _Drifting apart_ hadn't been how John described it, but Natasha held her tongue.

"After he went into the Air Force, we'd still hang out and stuff on the weekends when he was around." Tony poured coffee into a mug for Natasha, then brought both cups back to the table. "You know how it goes."

Natasha watched Tony closely. It wasn't like him to be so vague. "Were you still sleeping together?"

Tony clenched his jaw, but with reluctance he said, "Yes."

"What happened?"

"What happened?" Tony repeated, starting to get angry. "What happened is that John was at my place for the weekend, helping me fix up one of the old cars my dad bought before he died." Tony's head was up and he was glaring at Natasha as if they were about to do battle. "Just when I think things are going all fine, Rhodey dropped by to collect on some bullshit poker debt and John freaked the fuck out on me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he freaked out, just because I introduced him and Rhodey like civilized people do. Rhodey was barely out the door before John was in my face about how no one was supposed to know about what we were doing."

He pushed the coffee mug away from him on the table, his fingers moving over the objects on the table in agitation. "I told John that if he wanted to fuck someone he was ashamed of, he could get out of my house, that wasn't my kink."

Natasha leaned back in her chair. For a young Air Force officer in the early nineties, the revelation of a homosexual affair would have been career suicide.

"John said that I was being naive and stupid and I told him that if that was how he wanted to play it, he could go climb right back into that closet. I was out."

"Then what happened?" Natasha asked quietly.

"What do you mean, then what? He packed his shit and took off." Tony stood with a clatter, picking up his mug and going back to the coffee machine. "Whatever."

"Tony—"

"See, now, this is where you take his side," Tony snapped. He spilled coffee on the counter as he refilled his mug with a bit too much force.

"I'm not taking sides, but I can see things from John's point of view."

"What, that Rhodey would _tell_ someone?" Tony demanded. "That's bullshit, Rhodey wouldn't give a fuck."

"How could John know that?"

"I don't know, how about listening to me when I told him in those exact words?"

Natasha took her dirty dishes to the sink, then went to stand beside Tony. She put her hand on his arm. "The Air Force was all that John had," she said quietly.

"So he should have trusted me about Rhodey!"

"Maybe trust wasn't what was at stake."

Tony pulled his arm away. "Taking John's side," he warned.

Natasha patted Tony's cheek. "More like seeing both sides," she said. "You boys are idiots."

She set about tidying the kitchenette, not knowing when she might get a chance to come back to her apartment. The threat of the Winter Soldier hanging over her day suggested it might be some time indeed.

"What was Sheppard's spin on all this?" Tony asked, failing in his attempt to sound casual.

"He highlighted a different area of concern," Natasha said vaguely. If John wanted to discuss this with Tony, that was his business, but she could not give away the confidence of her son.

"Whatever, I don't care," Tony said. Natasha had never heard him sound so unconvincing. "So this Winter Soldier guy."

"What about him?" Natasha asked.

"If he's planning to come at us at some point, is there any chance he'll try to go through Pepper?"

"I don't think so," Natasha said. "Pepper is in London, the Winter Soldier is here. He doesn't normally go after secondary targets, there's no need."

"Good," Tony said. "But if he does, I'm going to blow him apart before he can hurt her. I don't care if he's your boyfriend or not."

Natasha smoothed the tea towel folded on the counter. "Fair enough," she said evenly. "If you're really worried about Pepper, you should have someone from Shield's distance-attack unit brief her on sniper evasion techniques. The Winter Soldier wouldn't go after Pepper in person, given Extremis."

"He knows about that?" Tony demanded.

"If it's relevant to the mission, he knows about it," Natasha said. "Think about how much Natalie Rushman knew about Tony Stark, those years ago."

Jarvis made an apologetic noise, entering into the conversation. "Agent Romanoff, Sir, Agents Hill and Sitwell from SHIELD are here."

Natasha looked at Tony. He grimaced. "Let's get this little disaster started, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The SHIELD briefing was as excruciating as Natasha anticipated.

No, Natasha didn't know why the Winter Soldier was in New York. He had not contacted her before that day, and given that she had thought him long dead, she had not expected him to.

Why hadn't Natasha called in before now? Didn't she realize that her delay had given the Winter Soldier a chance to escape? Well of course, but she knew he would have been out of that room within ten minutes after she'd left, just as she would have done if their places were exchanged. It was how they were trained.

Everything Natasha knew about the Winter Soldier was in the notes to the briefing the Natasha had given Coulson when she'd joined SHIELD. No, she didn't have the notes; Coulson had taken them with him to review. Had they checked his files?

"On it," Jasper Sitwell said, and slipped off to the side of the room to check something on his tablet. Maria Hill went back to her questions. "When you realized that the Winter Soldier was alive, why didn't you contact SHIELD immediately?"

Natasha raised one eyebrow. "If I'd done that," she pointed out, "I would have lost all chance to determine why he sought me out."

"And did you?"

"Enough to know the encounter was not an accident," Natasha said. "And now we know he's in possession of a Goa'uld weapon. As Agent Barton no doubt reported to you."

"Agent Barton thought it prudent to confirm that detail, yes," Maria admitted.

Natasha ground her teeth and refrained from looking at Clint, perched a few feet away on the back of the couch. "Agent Barton's need for verification is no doubt commendable."

The corner of Maria's mouth twitched just a fraction. "Was there anything out of the ordinary in the Winter Soldier's behavior?" she asked. "Did he make any indication that he had any particular target, any person or location?"

"He doesn't usually target locations," Natasha said. "As I indicated in my report to Coulson ten years ago, his specialty is individual targets."

"Were there any individual targets on who he appeared particularly focused?" Maria pressed.

Natasha cast her mind back to the previous evening, and that morning's discoveries on her phone. "He did turn the conversation once to Steve Rogers."

Across the room, Steve's head snapped up from where he'd been reading something off Stilwell's tablet. Super soldier hearing at work.

"Oh?" Maria asked. "What did he say?"

The Winter Soldier's words vivid in her memory made Natasha sit up straighter. "He expressed… concerns, that I was working with SHIELD on a team headed by Captain America," she said. "He questioned my motivation for being part of such a team, and what Captain America had done to secure my services."

Maria's eyebrows went up, but she had known Natasha long enough to realize that was all she was going to get.

Agent Sitwell returned, tablet in hand. "No one has any photos of this guy on file, only descriptions of his battle mask," he said to Maria. "Agent Romanoff, do you think you could put together a composite of the Winter Soldier's appearance?"

"Of course," Natasha said, slightly uncomfortable. But what else could she do? "I'll try."

Steve perked up at the mention of the composite. He crossed the room as Natasha settled the tablet on her lap. "There's a computer program that can put together faces?" he asked.

"It was used mostly by law enforcement," Clint contributed from the side. "SHIELD started using it in the eighties, tying into facial recognition software from surveillance cameras. We use it sometimes when we're working."

"Since we can't always take photos in the field of targets," Natasha added. Her fingers were flying across the screen, selecting a facial shape, the chin, the jaw line. She went back after a moment and added a cleft to the chin. There was no way to add the man's slight overbite, but he only lapsed into that on occasion when he was stressed or frustrated.

"Nat's better at this than I am," Clint said. "Her memory's better when it comes to faces."

"It's a nifty program," Steve said. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching the face take shape.

Natasha sorted through the sample noses, finally deciding on one that was a shade too wide at the bridge. The cheekbones weren't working, she thought, and manually moved them higher on the face.

The eyes were the hardest. None of the samples could truly capture the Winter Soldier's gaze, the piercing, unnerving way he would look at you. There was no way to add the lines at the corners of the eyes, how his eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

Natasha finally selected eyes of a close-enough shape, and fiddled with the color to get a passable shade of blue in the irises.

"Was this how he looked when you last saw him?" Maria asked.

Natasha shook her head. "Just…" She changed the hair style that was closer to the length on the Winter Soldier, and tapped the color button to change the shade to dark brown.

Clint made a non-committal sound. "Not bad," he said. "Although I think we'll have a better chance of finding him by focusing on what he wants, not waiting for him to pop up and spring something on us. Speaking of which, what do we do if he does show up here?"

"Tony said he was going to add something to the building's security protocols to keep an eye on things," Natasha said. She was about to hand the tablet back to Sitwell, but Steve reached out and stilled her hand. He was pale.

"Captain Rogers?" Maria asked. "Have you seen this individual recently?"

Steve looked at the image on the tablet intently. "No," he said finally. "It's just… it looks like someone I knew a long time ago." He let Maria take the tablet from him. "A really long time ago."

"We'll run this through security footage right away," Maria said. "If we have him in our system, we'll find him."

"You won't find him that way," Natasha cautioned. "Cameras never see him."

"It's 2013, Agent Romanoff," Sitwell said. "Times have changed."

"Not that much, they haven't."

The elevator doors opened, and Tony burst out, wearing an Air Force officer's hat. "Look what I found in the lobby," he announced, and John Sheppard stepped into the penthouse, resplendent in his air force uniform.

Natasha stood up, a wave of relief washing over her. Her son was here, and he was safe.

"Hey," John said, smiling at Natasha with some relief of his own. "I hear that things are getting a bit complicated?"

"I did say ‘planetary security,' did I not?" Tony asked.

"Something like that." John reached Natasha's side, and instead of smiling awkwardly at her like he usually did when they met, he held out his arms for a hug.

Natasha walked into the embrace. John, her son, her little boy, was still too thin for her liking, but his strength had returned from his alien imprisonment the previous summer. He pressed a kiss to the top of Natasha's head, then let her pull back to kiss him on both cheeks in the European style.

"Natasha," John said warmly. "It's good to see you."

Natasha had covertly watched Maria and Sitwell as John greeted her. Maria had been amused, while Sitwell looked like he'd been knocked off-guard. Natasha slipped her hand though John's arm and turned him to the SHIELD agents. "John, you remember Agent Maria Hill," Natasha said. "And this is Agent Jasper Sitwell. Colonel John Sheppard is with the Air Force."

John shook hands with first Maria, then Sitwell. "Thanks for agreeing to bring me in on this at the get-go," he said. "The Air Force appreciates the courtesy."

Natasha nudged him in the ribs. "It does?"

"Well, technically, General O'Neill said better me than him," John amended. "Tony said you had an interesting evening?"

Natasha went over to the couches where Clint and Steve had been watching with interest. John followed her, giving the two Avengers a brief nod. "How would you like me to explain this?" Natasha asked as she sat down.

"Given Tony's dire warnings, as succinctly as possible," John said.

Natasha spent a moment collecting her thoughts. "Have you heard of a Soviet operative known as the Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah. Rumor had it that he died in the late nineties."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "The Winter Soldier isn't dead," she explained. "He's in New York, and he is in possession of a Goa'uld kara kesh." Her mind voice kept slipping into Russian, and it was a struggle to keep her words and her accent America. "I was unable to ascertain if he is a Goa'uld himself."

John's eyes grew wide. "Well," he said after a moment. "I'll admit I wasn't expecting that."

"Nor was I," Natasha said. "I believed him dead many years ago."

John undid his jacket's button as he leaned forward. "Okay. This could get complicated. First things first, though, why do you say you don't know if he's a Goa'uld?"

"Because he had the kara kesh," Natasha said. "I saw it."

"But you'd have been able to sense it, like you did with Sam," John pointed out. "That whole naquada thing. Tony said that you may have, um, been in physical contact with this guy." John's ears had gone slightly pink.

Natasha turned to glare at Tony. "Yes, that is the case," she said shortly.

"So why aren't you sure?"

"The last time we talked about this, I thought you said that a newly infected Goa'uld host wouldn't have the same kind of naquada…" she broke off as John began shaking his head.

"Yeah, but a new host for like ten minutes," he explained. "As soon as the parasite takes control of the host, it starts to exude naquada and other guck into the host's bloodstream. As soon as that stuff hits the liver, it starts to be detectable. What you felt in Sam is about a hundred times less than an active host would be giving off."

Even though she was sitting down, Natasha felt faint. "So he's not a Goa'uld host," she said stupidly.

"Afraid not," John said.  
  
Natasha closed her eyes. The Winter Soldier was not a Goa'uld. She was not going to have to put a bullet in his head to stop an alien attack.

"Hey," John said. He put his hand on hers as she opened her eyes. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good," Natasha said, breathing around the rapid beating of her heart. "If he had been infected, I would not have been able to anticipate his actions. Him alone, I can understand."

John nodded. "Well, good then," he said. "Do you have anything else on this guy other than that he's in town and has alien tech?"

"We've got a composite," Tony said. He took the tablet from Sitwell and swiped the image up onto a holoscreen.

John leaned back and stared at the image. "So that's him," he said after a minute.

"You've met," Natasha said quietly.

"I remember," John said as he stood. He pulled the holoscreen up to face level and expanded it to display full-size.

"What?" Clint exclaimed. "When?"

John fiddled with his shirt cuff as he contemplated the picture. "Don't worry, it was a while ago," he said. "Can Jarvis change this a bit?"

"I can, Colonel Sheppard," Jarvis replied promptly.

"Can you give this guy short hair, and a bit of stubble?"

A copy of the composite appeared next to the original. The hair was replaced with a short version, and five o'clock shadow added to the cheeks.

At Natasha's side, Steve sucked in a sudden breath.

"Can you send these to me so I can forward them to my people?" John was asking.

"Already done, Colonel," Jarvis reported.

"Thanks." John turned back to the group. "So, now that we know the who and the where, how about we get to the why of the Winter Soldier having Goa'uld tech. Who is this guy working for?"

"You assume he's not operating independently," Steve said.

"He might be, but then why the Goa'uld hand device?" John asked. "He can't use  it and it's useless unless you have someone to make it work."

"How about reverse engineering it?" Tony asked.

"Maybe, if you've got the fundamental understanding of Goa'uld technology and access to the SGC's files, but I can't see any of our people colluding with a Red Army operative like the Winter Soldier."

"Why not?"

"Because if anyone was going to sell out for money or ideology, they'd have grabbed something they could actually use," John said. "Considering everything we've seen out there in the universe, this would be like committing treason over a Lego kit."

"And the Winter Soldier does not work with opportunists or fundamentalists," Natasha said.

"Why not?" Steve asked.

"It is about trust," Natasha explained. "If you can be bought once, you can be bought twice. If you follow a cause or a man as a mission from God, then you will turn against your brethren to see that mission succeed. In either case, such people can only be trusted to betray you."

"If he's not working with anyone on the inside, and he's not working alone, then who's giving the orders?" Steve asked.

"Someone who had to know he was alive," Clint suggested. "Any idea on who that might be?"

Natasha leaned back into the couch cushions. "It was commonly understood that the Winter Soldier was killed in Romania in 1999," she said. "I did not ask him who may have colluded to fake his death."

"Just a suggestion here," Tony said, "But shouldn't we be asking what he'd been doing for the last thirteen years? That's a long time to be underground."

Natasha frowned at Tony. "He was not underground, he was on ice," she said. "In the time that I have known him, when he was not on an active mission, he was kept in cryo-stasis."

John looked at her, his eyebrows going up. "So we've got a mysterious Soviet operative in possession of a piece of Goa'uld technology, working either independently or for person or persons unknown, towards an unknown outcome." He sighed. "No problem." He turned to Maria. "Given that the Goa'uld technology appears to be at the heart of the matter, my people should take point on it."

Maria pursed her lips. "I'm afraid I can't agree with that assessment. This is a SHIELD matter."

John shrugged. "That kind of call is above my paygrade," he said. "Maybe my boss should talk to your boss."

Natasha had a momentary image of Jack O'Neill facing off with Nick Fury, and suppressed a smile.

"But in the meantime, we can each focus on our areas of expertise," John went on. He smiled brightly at Maria.

Maria appeared unimpressed, but she did nod. "In the meantime," she said, looking at Natasha, "Agent Romanoff, may I see you in private for a few minutes?"

Natasha patted John's hand. "I'll be right back," she told him, and followed Maria from the room.

Ten minutes later, Natasha and Maria re-entered the room. Tony and John were hunkered down over a schematic of the kara kesh, with Steve watching the interaction. Clint, apart from the rest, leaned against the window, staring down at the city.

At their entrance, Sitwell gathered his belongings and followed Maria to the elevator, which closed silently after them.

Tony broke into John's explanation and asked, "What's going on?"

Natasha smoothed her shirt flat against her stomach. "I've been suspended," she said.

"What?" Steve demanded, shooting to his feet. "What for?"

"My actions in not immediately reporting the presence of a potentially hostile operative have called into question my ability to function professionally in the current matter," Natasha recited, more sarcastically than she would have if Maria had still been in the room. "My status will be reviewed once the Winter Soldier is located and taken into custody."

"That's bullshit," Tony said. "How are they going to find him without the one person who actually knows him?" He tilted his head, frowning at the kara kesh. "Although, to be fair, I guess I can see it."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "I mean, if it was a male agent who spent the night getting his dick wet with the enemy rather than calling it in, what would you say?"

John looked at Tony with disbelief. "Really? You just said that out loud?" He turned to Natasha. "How do you put up with him?"

"We have an understanding," Natasha said. "By which I mean he understands that if he keeps this up, I get to tell Pepper."

Tony paused, his hand hovering over the hand weapon schematic. "Point taken."

Natasha shook her head as she went back to the couch, slumping down next to Steve. For all that she had been expecting some disciplinary action to be taken against her, the suspension had surprised her. Coulson would never have suspended her; he'd have made his displeasure extremely clear, then run her into the ground to rectify her mistake.

"It doesn't matter," Steve announced. "You're not suspended from this team. Sheppard, I assume that Stargate Command will welcome Agent Romanoff's assistance in this matter?"

John raised his eyebrows. "That's why I'm here," he said. "Right now, Natasha is all we've got on figuring this whole thing out." He glanced at Natasha. "If she's okay with that."

"If I wasn't, I'd be halfway to Canada by now," Natasha said. Tony smiled at that for a moment.

Until he realized she was serious.

"Okay," John said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get to work."

"How?" Tony asked. "Do you have any way of figuring out what's going on?"

"Well, you know. We could brainstorm or something."

Tony let his head drop back to the couch cushions, but instead of dismissing John's suggestion as Natasha thought he might, he picked up the thread. "So what are all the ways that a Goa'uld hand device can be on Earth?"

"Space ship?" Clint ventured, drifting back to the group.

"Maybe someone in your command is selling them off," Natasha suggested. "Such black market activity is more normal that you may want to admit."

"There is that risk," John conceded. "I called in while you were getting suspended. They're checking inventory. But security is pretty tight on the weapons."

"Sheppard," Tony said suddenly. "Back when the Goa'uld were on Earth, could some of their stuff be left behind? Like Russian guns in Afghanistan from the eighties being used today?"

"There's a bit of a difference between thirty years and three thousand," John said dubiously.

"You get my point," Tony said, sitting forward. "If the Stargate was uncovered at one archeological dig, who knows what else might have been uncovered elsewhere."

"It's an idea," John said. "I mean, we found some stuff in various digs over the years. But how does that help?"

Tony rolled his eyes so hard that Natasha was afraid he might pull something. "How many Egyptian archeological sites were pilfered in the nineteenth century by the British and French treasure hunters? A lot of that stuff has been donated to museums or repatriated since then, but there's a lot still in private collections."

Steve was staring at Tony with something close to fascination. "How do you know that?" he asked. "You don't seem like you'd be into that kind of history."

Tony twitched his shoulder. "My mother was really big into archeology and cultural repatriation of artifacts. There's a joke in there about how old Howard was when she married him, I'm sure, but I've never been able to pull it out."

"So someone's got a box of old stuff, so what?" Clint asked.

"What do rich people do with objects they think might be of value?" Tony pressed.

"They get them insured," John said, already tapping on the holoscreen. "It's an idea."

"Are you going to look through insurance records?" Clint asked.

"No," John said. "If you have something you're willing to insure, and it goes missing, you call the police."

"That's a pretty long shot," Steve said dubiously.

"Better than waiting for the Winter Soldier to make his next step," John said. "I'll get this request in and we can go from there. Nice call, Tony."

Natasha pretended not to notice how Tony preened.

* * *

The session continued. Bruce joined them after a while, contributing to the pile of ideas on how to find the Winter Soldier and what he was up to. Ideas were floated from the unworkable (looking through all CCTV footage in New York on the off chance they could find the Winter Soldier) to the bizarre (magnetizing all hand railings in the city so the Winter Soldier would be trapped in one place with his metal hand).

They took a break around three in the afternoon, when Tony went to take a phone call from Pepper in London.

John slid down in his seat, rubbing his face.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah," John said. "Not exactly what I thought I'd be doing this month, but it's okay."

"Are you still working in Independent Projects?"

John nodded. "Nothing's changed on that front."

"How are your people on Atlantis?"

"Fine," John said shortly. Then he sighed. "They're great, all of them."

"That's good," Natasha said slowly.

"Yeah." John looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline. "It's good, really."

"And how are you?"

"Let's just say I'm fine too."

Natasha put her hand on John's shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Stay safe," John said, suddenly serious. "Whatever happens with the Winter Soldier, just make sure you stay safe, okay?"

"It is unlikely that he will come after me," Natasha said.

"Even after you give him up like this?" John nodded at the various holoscreens in the room.

"He knew I would have to do this," Natasha said. "Had he wished to have prevented it, he would have never revealed himself to me in the first place."

"Or have stopped you from leaving his apartment?" John asked.

Natasha shifted around so she could see John's face. "He knew I saw the kara kesh this morning. To truly have stopped me, he would have needed to kill me," she said. "I know him. He wouldn't have done that."

"It's been a long time since you've seen him. He might have changed."

"Not like that," Natasha said. "I told you, I know him. I have changed far more than he has in the last few decades."

John looked back at the composite sketch on one of the nearby holoscreens. "That's him, isn't it?" he asked. "That guy you were talking about."

For once, Natasha had no clue what John was talking about. "How do you mean?"

"Years ago, when you tracked me down to that bar after Dad died, you told me you that once upon a time you were in love with some guy. That guy I saw you with in the playground when I was a kid." John looked down at his hands. "This is him, isn't it?"

Natasha wrapped her arms around her stomach, fingernails digging through the thin fabric into her skin. "When I told you that, the Winter Soldier had been dead for eight years."

"So now that he's back, do you still… I don't know. Are things the same?"

Natasha wondered what she could say to make her son would understand. "There were days when I would have given almost anything to have him back," she said. It felt uncomfortably like a confession. "To get him back now, only to have this happen…" She shook her head. "It is what it is."

John shifted over and gave Natasha an awkward side-hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "This sucks."

Natasha leaned against him. She would not let herself cry about the Winter Soldier, not now. "We have work to do," she said instead. "We have to find him and figure out who he is working for, and go from there."

"You're sure he's not operating on his own," John stated.

"To what purpose?" Natasha asked. "He can't use the device himself, and he does not operate for profit. Even if he did, he would have had no way of knowing what the weapon was for unless he was told."

"This bugs me," John said. "More than it should. Something's happening and I don't know what it is."

"Is this based on any intelligence you have?" Natasha asked.

"No, just a gut feeling." John poked at his phone. "Like it used to be when we were somewhere in Pegasus and there were Wraith lurking around the corner."

Natasha understood that feeling; when on a mission, the paranoia, sometimes perfectly justified, could creep in and follow you everywhere.

John sighed. "Look, I need to get back to Colorado to figure out what's happening at Stargate Command," he said. "I'll probably be back tomorrow with news."

"Will you really?" Natasha asked.

"Of course." John saw her expression, and made a face. "Okay, I'll try," he conceded. "But I was serious about needing you on this case. My people get the Goa'uld, but I don't think any of them will be able to understand the Winter Soldier as more than an enemy."

"I thought you said that the program has international participation, including Russia."

"Participation, yes," John said. "But a lot of the generals, on both sides, were on the ground during the Cold War. People have a hard time letting go of a lifetime of being told who your enemy is."

"What about you?" Natasha asked.

John smiled faintly. "I joined up as the walls were coming down," he reminded her. "My enemies are a lot different. For starters, they eat people."

Natasha caught John's arm as he tried to stand. "What did you say?"

"The Wraith eat people," John said, as if this sort of conversation was _normal_. "Well, it's more of a sucking the life out of you, like a spider does with a fly, but it's the same end result."

Natasha stared at him, aghast. "This is true, what you say?"

John looked at her. For an instant, a bone-deep weariness showed through his normally bland expression. "Why do you think we do everything we can to stop them?" he asked. "It's a bit more black and white when the enemy plans on eating you alive."

Natasha caught his hand in hers. With a sudden pang, she remembered when he was an infant, his tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb as if he'd never let go.

After he was born, Natasha had spent hours holding him in her arms, staring into his alert little eyes, wondering what he would be when he grew up, if he would be big and strong and brave like his father.

She'd never imagined, in her most horrible nightmares, that her son would one day grow up to fight monsters.

"Do the Goa'uld eat people?" she asked, her voice sounding normal in spite of the horror.

"Not that I know of," John said. "But hell, given the stories about the old gods? I wouldn't be surprised."

He stood, pulling on his jacket. Natasha also stood, and gave him a hug. "You need to be careful out there," she cautioned. "If the Winter Soldier comes at you, you will not see him until it is too late."

"Will he?" John asked curiously. "I mean, because I'm your son, does that make me more of a target?"

Natasha sincerely hoped not. The Winter Soldier knew how much John meant to her. He had been the only person she'd ever dared speak to about John, after she'd been forced to leave her son behind in America. The Winter Soldier had known that she checked in on John when she was in America; about the pen pal letters when John was a teenager. The Winter Soldier had been the one sent to retrieve her from the circus in Oklahoma, had known John had been there.

"Will he come at me to get to you?" John pressed.

"I don't think so," Natasha said slowly. "He's not a sadist. If he does come for me, he'll come at me directly. The only reason he would have to target you would be if it was about you specifically."

John cracked a smile. "Considered that I don't usually handle with the Goa'uld side of the things, I'm okay with that." He picked up his hat from where Tony had dropped it. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll find this guy."

"Then what?" Natasha asked.

John didn't really have a good answer to that one.

* * *

After John took his leave, Natasha took in the expressions on the rest of her team and promptly walked out of the penthouse.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the gym, alternating between the free weights, the treadmill, and the makeshift obstacle course. She was pushing herself too hard, she knew, but  she needed to be on top of her game to find the Winter Soldier.

Of anyone she had ever faced, the Winter Soldier knew her best, and that was what made him so dangerous. He would not be taken in by her appearance or mannerisms. He would not underestimate her because of her behavior. He could counteract every fighting technique she had. And to top it off, he was nearly double her weight with his metal arm. She could not overpower him.

If he decided to come at her, she could not stop him, not without putting a bullet in his head.

She would, if it came down to that: to protect civilians, her team, her son, she would kill the Winter Soldier.

After hours of physical activity, Natasha became aware of someone standing in the doorway.

"Thor," she said, never breaking her rhythm on the speed bag.

"Natasha," Thor said in kind. "Clint has sent me to tell you that we gather for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

The quick thunk-thunk of her fists on the speed bag was the only sound for a few minutes. Then Thor cleared his throat.

"I too know what it is like, to face as an enemy one who is still loved," he said, his voice somber. "It is not an easy battle."

Natasha hit the speed bag one last time. "This is different than what happened with Loki," she said, breathing hard.

"How do you think that?" Thor asked.

Natasha went over to the bench and took a long drink of water. She was exhausted and her arms ached so much she could barely lift them. "Because," she said softly, "Maybe I always knew it might come to this. That one day, they would send me after the Winter Soldier." She wiped the sweat off her forehead with her shirt sleeve. "I thought, when he died, that no matter what else happened, at least I didn't have to kill him myself."

To his credit, Thor didn't offer any platitudes or try to make her feel better. He only gave a slight bow. "We will save you a plate of food for you, in case you are hungry later."

"Thanks, Thor." She waited until Thor had gone, before stepping up to the punching bag.

* * *

Night had fallen on New York when Natasha dragged herself into the communal kitchen. She'd showered and pulled on some comfortable clothes, but she still fell like crap.

All her afternoon in the gym had proven was how far she was from her top fighting form.

The last decade with SHIELD had made her soft. It had made her weak.

The kitchen was deserted except for one man. Steve sat at the table, drawing pad in front of him. He was staring at it, oblivious.

"Hey," Natasha said in greeting.

Steve flinched, startled. "Sorry," he said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "I didn't hear you."

"That's not like you," Natasha said as she opened the fridge. True to Thor's word, there was a covered plate on the top shelf with a note marked _For Natasha DO NOT EAT._ "How is everyone doing?"

"Annoyed at each other," Steve said. A rueful half-smile ghosted across his face. "Tony's sore at Clint for getting you suspended. Clint's the same at Tony for not seeing his side."

Natasha shrugged. "Clint had no other choice," she said, sitting down across from Steve with her plate. "He acted according to SHIELD regulations."

"Still," Steve said. "Clint should have known what would happen to you. He should have thought about it more."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Natasha uncovered the plate to reveal chicken, green beans and potatoes, all arranged with precision. "SHIELD has pretty strict rules about personal contact with unfriendly agents."

"But you know this guy more than anyone."

"And if SHIELD thought I might turn to his side?" Natasha asked, lifting a green bean to her mouth. "That I would be swept off my feet by a night of passionate lovemaking and return to my old ways? Isn't that how women act in the old spy thrillers?"

Steve winced. "I wouldn't think you'd ever be swept off your feet."

Natasha picked up another bean. "You don't think I'd be able to fall for someone like that?" she asked. It felt oddly painful for someone she considered a friend to think of her as that cold.

"It's not like that," Steve corrected quickly. "It's just… you're such a competent lady. Maybe you'd have an affair," and oh, how flustered Steve sounded. "But you wouldn't let it override your good sense or hurt anyone. "You… I don't know. You're practical."

Natasha had to hand it to Steve. He'd found the perfect combination of competence and calculation to make her feel incredibly old.

"But my point," Steve soldiered on. "Is that I don't know how anyone could think you'd turn traitor because of a man."

Natasha chewed on a potato thoughtfully. "What was her name?" Natasha asked after a minute.

"Pardon?" Steve blurted out in confusion.

"The woman who gave you such faith in other people."

"Sarah Rogers," Steve said. "I know some men won't say that, don't like to talk about their mothers, but mine taught me to try to be a good person. That it was the most important thing in the world. That and help people. I guess I'm still trying to be the man she thought I could be."

"Was there anyone else?" Natasha asked. "During the War."

Steve smiled sadly. He leafed back a few pages in his sketchpad, and held it out to Natasha. "Peggy Carter," he said. "She was one hell of a lady."

The page showed the outline of a face, with only the eyes drawn in detail. In those few lines, it was an incredible likeness of Peggy Carter as Natasha remembered her from decades before.

Natasha handed the book back to Steve. "You'd have liked her," Steve said, looking at the drawing again. "She was like you. A good person."

Natasha refrained from comment. Now was not the time to share stories of the Cold War conflict between the Black Widow and Margaret Carter of SHIELD. Maybe later. Maybe never.

"Why are you up here?" Natasha asked instead. "I thought tonight was movie night."

"Called off on account of the fight between Tony and Clint. Bruce took Tony down to the lab to look at those schematics of the Goa'uld hand device that Colonel Sheppard left behind. Clint went to the shooting range in the basement."

"Arrows or bullets?"

"Arrows, I think. Thor said something about seeing how well he can deflect those new razor-tipped arrows that Clint's been trying."

Great. Clint only took the bow and arrow down to the training range at night when he was really upset.

Natasha went back to eating, ravenous after her workout. Steve picked up his pencil, but didn't set it to the page.

Soon, Natasha finished eating and went to put the plate in the dishwasher. She turned on the kettle for tea. "What are you working on?" she asked, going back to her chair.

"Bucky," Steve said. "I just—" He let out a frustrated breath. "Earlier today, when I said your sketch of the Winter Soldier reminded me of someone, that was Bucky."

"He was your friend."

"He was my best friend. The best friend a guy could ever have," Steve said, his voice hollow. "It's been over two years since he died, and I'm starting to forget what he looked like."

"That's what happens with grief," Natasha said quietly. "It makes us forget to blunt the pain, but when it doesn't hurt as much anymore, we've lost something irreplaceable."

"I keep trying to draw him," Steve said. "But all I can see is that stupid headshot in his Army file."

He turned a page in the notebook. On the paper lay several half-finished sketches of a face that seemed faintly familiar to Natasha.

"You know, the last time I saw him before the serum," Steve went on, "He picked my sorry ass up off the ground after a fight in an alley, and took me to see the Expo in New York, the one Howard Stark was at. Bucky left me at a recruiting station and went off to war." Steve tossed his pencil on the table. "Just the way he smiled, held his head, it was like he was going off on some great adventure."

Steve turned back the pages in the notebook. On the paper, near the beginning of the sketchbook, was an intricate drawing in lines and shading. The man on the page, a boy really, looked down from on high, and smiled the cocky smile of youth.

The lift of the head, the jut of a strong chin, all that confidence and bravado begging to be ripped away by war.

Natasha could see why Steve had been reminded of this man by the Winter Soldier sketch. The boy on the paper had a similar bone structure, the shape of the nose and the eyes.

"You miss him," she said as she closed the cover on the sketchpad.

Steve looked away. "Every day," he said, voice a bit rough. "I keep thinking, how much Bucky would have enjoyed all this. You know, the future and all. The cars, the flashy colors." Steve smiled in spite of himself. "The girls."

"He was a ladies man?"

"Woman couldn't keep their eyes off him," Steve said. "Even the sisters in the orphanage wouldn't get too mad at him. Bucky would be causing all sorts of trouble and they'd catch him, and he'd just smile at them and talk his way out of a whipping." Steve shook his head. "I sound like an old man."

He stood, gathering his pencils and sketchpad. "You don't have to leave," Natasha said.

"Thanks for saying that," Steve said. "But I'll see you in the morning."

With a small, sad smile, he left the kitchen. A deep silence settled, so quiet in the tower that Natasha could hear the tick of the kettle as it cooled.

She sighed, and got up to make herself some tea.

* * *

She couldn't sleep.

Natasha hadn't expected to, honestly, but the quiet darkness of her bedroom was going to drive her insane. When the clock threatened half past two, Natasha pulled a hoodie on over her pajamas and padded barefoot up the penthouse.

The city lay below, lit up like the jewels of a dragon's treasure. Natasha stepped lightly on the slate floor over to the window. She settled down on the floor, looking out over the dark mass that was Central Park.

It had been just over thirty hours since she had forced the Winter Soldier to the ground in Central Park, a knife's blade at his throat, his body solid underneath hers.

Five hours until dawn.

Natasha sat in silence, the events of the last day replaying in her head. After some time, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and she tensed, her hand grasping the handle of the knife in her hoodie pouch.

"It's me," came a soft voice. Natasha relaxed against the window as Clint stepped into the room. He was nearly indistinguishable in the dim light, but Natasha could see that he was carrying something. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Natasha said nothing.

"I've got ice cream," Clint continued. "And vodka."

Natasha watched Clint's reflection in the window. "I hope you brought spoons," she said after a minute.

"Of course I did." Clint padded over to Natasha's side and sat down, a respectful three inches between them. He handed Natasha the ice cream container and set the vodka bottle on the ground before pulling two spoons out of his pocket, handing one to Natasha.

Natasha peeled back the lid of the half-empty container. It was vanilla, not her favorite, but acceptable.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Clint asked around a mouthful of ice cream.

"About what?"

He shifted on the floor. "I did what I had to do, Nat."

"I know."

"What would you have done?"

Natasha let a spoonful of ice cream melt on her tongue. "I'd have run with you," she said finally. "We'd have figured it out on our own."

Clint let out his breath in a huff. "That wasn't what you were supposed to say."

"Why not?" Natasha demanded. "Tell me who in your past is as dangerous as the Winter Soldier, and then I'll tell you that I would have called SHIELD."

"So you still think that you can handle the Winter Soldier on your own?"

"If I did, would I have come back to the Tower this morning?" Natasha scraped the last of the ice cream out of the container. "I came back because if the Winter Soldier does have a mission that involves me, then I know I need people I can trust at my back."

Clint stared at her.

Honestly. "Clint, you were here," she said. "The others too, but especially you."

"Oh."

Natasha pushed the ice cream container out of the way. "Yes, oh." She slid over to Clint's side and pressed against him. "You're my partner, idiot," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder. "That's how this works now. You and me."

Clint sighed, putting his arm around her. "I'm sorry," he said after a minute.

"About what?"

"When I flipped out about stuff," he said. His fingers stroked her arm absently. "It was just… Coulson told me about the Winter Soldier, about the stuff they think he'd done. Hearing he was still alive and that he might be coming for you, I…"

"Overreacted?" Natasha finished for him.

"Maybe a little."

Natasha let it go. "Are we good, then?"

"If you think we are, then we are." Clint squeezed her shoulder. "Do you want a drink?"

Natasha shook her head. "Save it for when this is all over. We'll both enjoy it more."

"How bad do you think this is going to get?"

Natasha looked out the window at the city below. She thought about the man she had known long ago in Russia, and the people they had both become.

"It could be nothing," she said. "Or it could be something. I don't know."

"He didn't give you any clue?"

"No. Until I saw the Goa'uld weapon, I thought that he only wanted to see me."

"What about that thing with Steve?" Clint asked. "You told Hill that he brought Steve up. What didn't you tell her?"

Natasha pulled her knees up to her chest. For all that the penthouse was climate controlled, she felt a chill. "I thought he was just angry I was working for SHIELD. But no, he pretty much wanted to know if I joined the Avengers because of Steve Rogers' magic penis."

Clint snorted. "Well, I know that's why I joined the team."

"Barton."

"What?" Clint protested. "You know SHIELD locker room talk. I once overheard some guys from the armory taking bets on exactly how thorough that super soldier serum was at making Steve bigger, if you know what I mean."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm so glad you have such important conversations in the locker room."

"Why, what do you  girls talk about?"

"We _women_ talk about training techniques. Strength-building progress. Work _._ "

"Sounds dull."

"At least we have other things to discuss than the continual delusion of the American male as to what exactly constitutes eight inches."

Clint laughed, pressing his cheek against Natasha's hair. "It's not like that's a uniquely American problem."

"To the ongoing disappointment of women around the world."

"Can we stop talking about dicks now?" Clint asked.

"You started it."

"And I truly regret that life choice." Clint shifted on the floor. "My butt's going numb. Are you going to go to bed anytime soon?"

"Probably not," Natasha said. "I'm trying to figure out what is going on. It's been so long that I'm afraid I've forgotten too much about the Winter Soldier."

"You'll remember," Clint said. "In the meantime…" He stood and went over to the couch, bringing back a pillow and blanket, "Wake me up if you need anything."

And he lay down beside Natasha and closed his eyes.

Natasha put her head on his head, feeling the soft bristle of his hair, the familiar shape of his skull. "Ridiculous man," she said fondly in Russian.

Clint faked a snore.

"Thank you for staying with me," she said, mostly because she knew it was what he wanted to hear. But it was also a nice thought on his part, thinking that he would be able to help her if she needed it.

It wouldn't do any good if the Winter Soldier came through the door, but Clint's heart was in the right place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some relevant links for those of you who haven't seen Stargate in a while:
> 
>   * [Hara'kesh](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Hara%27kesh)
>   * [Kara kesh (hand device)](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Kara_kesh)
>   * [Goa'uld Healing Device](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Goa%27uld_healing_device)
> 


* * *

The next day dawned on a group of cranky, sleep-deprived Avengers. All except for Thor, but then, very little could blunt Thor's general good humor.

Tony sat at the table in the kitchen, fiddling with one of the gauntlets for his latest Iron Man suit. Bruce nursed a cup of tea, Clint dozed into his plateful of eggs, and Steve mechanically ate his oatmeal.

Natasha drank her third cup of coffee as she mentally planned her day. Since she no longer had any SHIELD duties, she would spend a few hours in the gym, working on her agility and speed. Then she would review the news blogs to see if she could spot any anomalies that might indicate Winter Soldier activity over the past few months. That should put her at a good time to contact John in Colorado to determine his progress.

This tentative plan was put on hold when Jarvis announced, "Sir, Colonel Sheppard is here with two others."

Tony set down his screwdriver. "How did the body scans work?"

"Both individuals have two organic arms," Jarvis said. "Pulse points present and accounted for."

"What's he talking about?" Steve asked.

"We're looking for a guy with only a sketchy description who's got a metal arm," Tony said. He slipped the gauntlet off. "I'm pretty sure that the one thing this guy can't fake is a pulse."

"Sir," Jarvis said patiently.

"Send them up," Tony said. He looked around the kitchen at the lackluster group. "God. You're supposed to save the world looking like this?"

"Your motivational speeches suck, Stark," Clint said as he heaved himself out of his chair.

Thor, who was already on his feet and ready to go, frowned. "Surely you wish to know the outcome of the investigation into the Goa'uld," he said. "I, for one, wish to hear more as I was not able to join you in yesterday's mind-storming."

"Brainstorming," Bruce corrected automatically. "Using your brain to come up with a storm of ideas in a group."

"Brainstorming," Thor repeated thoughtfully. "I do enjoy the way you Midgardians create such imagery in your language."

"If you want imagery, I'll teach you Russian," Natasha said. "Why are we going to the penthouse?"

"This way I don't have to feed anyone breakfast," Tony said.

"And here I thought you just wanted to show off the billion-dollar view."

"There is nothing wrong with that," Tony protested, nearly stepping on Natasha's heel as they came out into the penthouse. Jarvis had raised the curtains to let the early morning sunshine in through the windows.

The elevator door opened, and into the penthouse walked John with two men from Stargate Command: Dr. Daniel Jackson, the archeologist, and the Jaffa Teal'c.

"Morning," John said, disturbingly chipper for so early in the day. "What's new?"

Natasha glared at her son as she went to greet him. "I hope you have something to tell us."

"Of course I do," John said with an easy smile. "But first. Dr. Daniel Jackson, this is Thor, of Asgard."

Dr. Jackson reached forward and shook Thor's hand. "It's an honor to meet you" he said enthusiastically. "Colonel Sheppard told us about your people. Perhaps later we can speak a little about your world?"

"Of course," Thor said. Only someone who knew him well would have seen his slight hesitation.

John saved the moment, saying, "Dr. Jackson has been with the Stargate Program since the beginning. He's sort of like… well, a bard. Do you have those on Asgard?"

Thor's expression changed to one of delight. "We do!" he exclaimed, clapping Dr. Jackson on the arm. "I look forward to sharing stories with you, Daniel Jackson, when we have a chance."

"And this is Teal'c," said John, clearly enjoying himself. "He's a great warrior and a leader among the Jaffa."

Teal'c inclined his head. "Thor of Asgard, I greet you."

Thor gave a nod of his own. "Teal'c of Jaffa, I greet you. You are not of this world?"

"My people are of many worlds in this galaxy," Teal'c explained. "I am proud to call the people of Stargate Command friends, and comrades."

At Natasha's side, Clint sighed. "Always a bridesmaid," he mumbled.

John must have heard Clint, for he said, "One more introduction. This is Clint Barton, with SHIELD."

Teal'c focused his attention on Clint. "You are the archer who fought in the battle with the Chitauri," he said.

"Yeah, that was me."

Teal'c gave an approving tilt of the head. "Your skill with the bow is remarkable."

"Uh, thanks," Clint said, straightening his spine. He didn't turn red, but Natasha knew him well enough to know that he was slightly embarrassed and rather pleased.

"Did you guys find anything out about the Goa'uld weaponry?" Tony asked, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Of course we did," John said. "Can we sit?"

"In one of many expensive chairs, yes."

It took a minute for all the testosterone in the room to settle, but eventually everyone was sitting. John put his phone on the table for Jarvis to access. "We contacted Interpol and a few other police agencies internationally to see if they had any record of lost or stolen objects that we could trace back to the Goa'uld," he said.

"From your tone, I take it you had luck?" Natasha asked.

John grinned at her. "You could say that."

He swiped the contents of his phone to the holoscreens around the room. Up came a half-dozen photographs of objects, in various states of archeological disarray.

"What's all this?" Tony asked.

"These three," Dr. Jackson said, pointing at the pieces that looked metal in origin, "Are Goa'uld technology. This one is a kara kesh, a Goa'uld hand device, that was stolen from a private collection in Mexico City last month. It's likely the one that Agent Romanoff saw."

"What are these other two?" Steve asked.

"This one is a Goa'uld healing device," Dr. Jackson said. "And this is a hara'kesh, which is pretty much the opposite. Goa'uld assassins use this to torture and kill."

The healing device was coated in clay and dirt, although some attempt had been made to clean it. Still, it looked like nothing more than a hand-sized semiprecious stone surrounded by tarnished metal. The hara'kesh, on the other hand, was burnished and shining. In the picture displayed, it was attached to a thin gold chain.

"Someone was using this as a pendant," Natasha observed.

"There was a family story that the great-great grandfather found it at an archeological dig in Egypt in the late 1850s," Dr. Jackson said. "Given the time and cultural realities, it was probably more like organized grave-robbing."

"What about these stone tablets?" Bruce asked, looking at the three remaining photographs. "That looks like hieroglyphs."

"They are." Dr. Jackson glanced at John, who enlarged the photos of the three stone tablets. "These were part of a collection of Egyptian hieroglyphs on display in a university museum in Sweden. They were stolen last June."

"So long ago?" Natasha asked. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Something was wrong. If the Winter Soldier had been out of stasis as far back as June the previous year, the scars on his shoulder would have healed beyond that ugly red stage.

"What caught my attention wasn't the hieroglyphs on the tablets," Dr. Jackson said. "It's the border." He pointed at the edge of one tablet. The tablet was lined with unusual shapes, small and angular and repeating.

"Writing," said Bruce.

"Goa'uld writing," Dr. Jackson clarified. His excitement was obvious. "The hieroglyphs on this tablet describe the saga of Isis' resurrection of Osiris, one of the most famous stories of the old Egyptian gods."

"I am not familiar with the sagas of your gods," Thor said, leaning forward.

"Is this relevant?" Tony asked John in a stage whisper.

"It's context. Shh."

Dr. Jackson sat up, composing himself. "Osiris was the son of Ra, the god of the sun and the leader of the Egyptian gods," he began. "Osiris ruled over Egypt with his wife, Isis. He also had a brother, Setesh, who you knew as Seth."

Natasha felt a thrill of remembered terror at Seth's name. She pushed down the reaction.

"Setesh despised his brother and planned to kill him. While Isis was away, Setesh threw a party in his brother's honor. He tricked Osiris into climbing into a storage box and closed it, killing him. Once Osiris was dead, Setesh ripped his brother's body into pieces and scattered them across Egypt.

"When Isis found out what Setesh had done, she searched the land in her grief to find the pieces of her husband. When she'd found most of them, she performed a resurrection spell which brought Osiris back to life for long enough for them to conceive a son, Horus. After that, Osiris went off to rule as king of the underworld."

"Were any of these other gods in your story Goa'uld as well?" Steve asked.

"Yes," Dr. Jackson replied. "What isn't in the stories, but we learned several years ago, is that the Goa'uld Setesh really did dethrone his brother. He extracted the Osiris and Isis Goa'uld symbiotes and imprisoned them in stasis chambers disguised as canopic jars."

"Where are these jars now?"

Dr. Jackson's mouth curved down into a frown. "The jar containing the Isis symbiote was damaged and the symbiote died. Osiris managed to escape and take a host, but he was later extracted from that host."

Natasha ran her finger over a seam on the couch cushion. "If the Goa'uld involved are dead, why would someone have stolen the tablets?" she asked.

"Isis was known in her day as a powerful sorceress," Teal'c said. "I believe that you would refer to her as a scientist, but to many she was considered a witch. Many Goa'uld feared her more than they did Osiris." He gestured at the pictures of the tablets. "Daniel Jackson believes that the Goa'uld writing on the tablets is the secret to how Isis resurrected Osiris."

"If the translation is right," Dr. Jackson said, "This could be the key to unlocking the fundamental science behind Goa'uld healing technology, what they refer to as a sarcophagus."

"Healing technology," Tony repeated, throwing a significant look at Natasha. "Now that sounds like a money maker."

"It's more than that," John said. "Goa'uld use this technology as a fountain of youth. A Goa'uld with this can pretty much live forever."

"That's good motivation for anyone to steal the tablets," Steve said.

"If a Goa'uld had access to the ideas on that tablet and to supplies to actually build a sarcophagus of their own…" Dr. Jackson shook his head. "There's no telling what might happen."

Tony tapped finger against his tablet computer. "So where does today's discerning do-it-yourself Goa'uld go to get the parts?"

Dr. Jackson adjusted his glasses on his nose. "Actually…" He glanced at John.

"Area 51," John said in resignation. "We've got pieces of non-functioning sarcophagi at Area 51."

Bruce was looking steadily at John. "Can these things be weaponized?"

"Not that I'm aware of," John responded. "And in answer to your next question, the reason we haven't been able to rebuild these things is that we have no idea how they work. That hand-held device?" John indicated the photo on the holoscreen. "Can be operated by literally only two people on the planet, and even they can't explain it beyond wanting to make it work."

"And if you had the tablets you might be able to rebuild the healing technology?" Natasha interrupted. "Why didn't you just tell us that to start with?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Because not a single one of you would have believed that wasn't our primary motivation. Look, all I want to do is track down the Goa'uld who is behind all this and make sure they're not a threat. Healing technology and all this science bullshit, I'll leave to the others. All I want is the Goa'uld."

"And the Winter Soldier," Natasha said.

"If he's working for the Goa'uld, then yeah, I want him too."

At John's side, Tony shook his head. "What happens if you find them?"

"I make sure they can't hurt anyone else, okay?" John retorted.

Natasha pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She, at least, had heard enough to make her decision. She stood. "Let's go."

Everyone looked at her. "Go where?" Steve asked.

"Area 51." Natasha turned to John. "If the Winter Soldier is after technology that you have at Area 51, I need to survey the scene and determine the risk of incursion."

John frowned as he looked at Dr. Jackson and Teal'c. "That wasn't the foregone conclusion I was going for," he said.

"We're wasting time," Natasha said. "The Winter Soldier knows he's running out of time to complete his mission. Whatever his timeline, it might have been accelerated. If you wish to prevent him from getting whatever he's after, we need to hurry."

"You don't know he's going to Area 51," Clint said. "He might have a target in the city, or maybe he's left the country."

"He hasn't," Natasha insisted. "I know how he thinks, Clint, and I know I'm right."

"All right," Steve said with the ring of authority in his voice. "Here's what we're going to do. Tony, you and Bruce keep up with the scanning we talked about yesterday, including that surveillance. Clint, coordinate with SHIELD. I'm going with Natasha to Area 51." He turned to Thor. "If the Winter Soldier comes at anyone here…"

"I will stand on guard," Thor said solemnly.

"Great." Steve stood. "I'll get my shield and we can go." He smiled his stage grin at the Stargate people. "Gentlemen, shall we?"

John sighed. "I haven't said yes to this," he cautioned.

Steve met his eyes. "You will."

John's smile was tight. "Nat, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I need to get my kit," she said.

"I'll come with you." John followed Natasha out of the room, down the stairs to her apartment. "It's not as easy as you may think for me to get you into Area 51."

"Why not?"?

"Because you're _you_ ," he blurted out. "You're the Black Widow, and you spent decades doing Russian spy things."

Natasha scanned her way into the apartment. "I don't do that anymore," she reminded him.

John followed her through the door. "Well, I know that," he said. "But everyone else might wonder…"

Natasha stopped mid-way through the living room and turned to face John. "Are you asking me if I'm working with the Winter Soldier?" she asked.

John crossed his arms over his chest. His uncharacteristic silence told her all that she needed to know. Natasha sucked in a breath at the unexpected pain. She had not expected this from her son. Shaking her head, she went to the far wall and drew back the colorful tapestry to reveal her personal arsenal.

"I don't think you're working with him," John said cautiously as Natasha pulled down weapon after weapon. "But what will you do if it comes down to him or us?"

Natasha slid her Widow's Sting onto her left wrist, testing the weight. "I keep my word," she said. "And that word is to protect people and to keep the world safe."

"And in this case?" John pressed. "Say the Winter Soldier gets Goa'uld technology and he swears he's going to use it to make something that will heal people. Then what does your word mean?"

Natasha slid a sheathed knife into the top of her boot. "What do you want to hear?"

"I need to know what you'll do if I let you in on this," John said, his voice rising in anger. "If I bring you into this and you end up aiding the Winter Soldier, it's over. The SGC, my career, you and me, everything!"

"I would never do that to you!" Natasha flashed.

"That's what I need to hear!" John shouted. "I need to know that if it's him or me, you'll choose me!"

Natasha put a pistol down onto the table and stalked across the room. As soon as she was within striking distance of John, she slapped him. Not hard, but enough to startle him. "Of course I will choose you, you stupid boy! I always have!" Natasha exclaimed. "You are my son, I will never do anything to hurt you!"

"You drugged me and _threw me out of a car window_!"

"To save your life!" Natasha grabbed John's arms and forced him to sit. "Don't you dare compare this to then, do you hear me?"

"Mom—"

"I meant what I said, do you understand? I can see any weakness in your security the Winter Soldier will exploit, to help you! You and the SGC, but especially you!"

"What do you get out of it?" John demanded. "Besides us working together, which is kind of cool. You could just sit this out, let us track him down."

 Natasha let go of John's arm and slumped on the couch, the exhaustion of the sleepless night pressing down on her. "If you try to stop the Winter Soldier on your own, people will die," she said. "Maybe some of yours, maybe him. Maybe even you. If I'm there, maybe I can prevent those deaths."

"You want him alive," John said.

Natasha ran her hand through her hair, a lump of long-repressed grief in her throat. "Is that so much to ask?" she said softly.

John put his hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes, it is," he said. "Look, I'll make you a deal."

"What?"

"I'll bring you in on this," he said. "But if you think you'll have to make a different call, you have to tell me. You stand back and you tell me. That's the only way this is going to work."

Natasha looked at her son. "I'll try," she said after a moment. "I can't promise anything more than that."

"Good," John said. He smiled faintly. "Maybe next time we do this, we can skip the part where you slap me?"

"We'll see," Natasha said, and went to get the rest of her weapons.

 When she came back with a small overnight back containing a change of clothes and enough weaponry to take over a small European nation, she found John holding a small photograph she'd propped against a book on the shelf.

"I remember this Christmas," John said, handing her the photograph. In it, Natasha held a two-and-a-half-year-old John. The boy looking at the camera had delight and mischief on his face as he clung tight to his mother. "You seemed happy then."

"Of course I was happy," Natasha said, leaning against John's arm. "I had you."

* * *

Natasha had expected to a trip to the airfield for the flight to Nevada. She had not expected to be led into an empty hangar. She and Steve exchanged a glance. "Is the plane coming?" Steve asked John.

"Nope," John said with a small grin on his face. "One of the benefits of being a colonel is that I can use some unorthodox equipment."

"What does that even mean?" Natasha asked, but John was already walking across the hangar floor.

And he vanished.

Natasha suppressed an exclamation of surprise. Before she could form a question, the air shimmered and a small squat ship appeared on the hangar floor. John poked his head out of the back hatch. "You coming or what?"

Dr. Jackson shook his head. "He really is as bad as Jack," he muttered to Teal'c as he headed towards the ship as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Teal'c followed him.

At Natasha's side, Steve let out a low whistle. "And I thought the helicarrier had some pretty nifty cloaking technology," he said.

"Come on," John called. "Wheels up in two."

"How is that supposed to fly?" Natasha asked as she and Steve walked across the hangar. "It doesn't have any wings."

"We don't need wings," John said with a grin. "You'll see."

Natasha rounded the end of the small ship, taking in every detail. The thing resembled a tin can on its side. The ramp led up into a small hold area, not even half the size of a SHIELD quinjet. Low benches lay on either side of the hold, with netting above for storage. Halfway into the body of the ship was a set of doors, and a dashboard was visible.

Dr. Jackson had seated himself on one of the benches in the back, absorbed in his reading. Teal'c was settling into one of the chairs in the front of the ship.

"Come on," John said, heading into the cabin. "Who wants to ride shotgun?"

"Natasha can," Steve said. "Where can I stow this?" He hefted the bag that held his shield.

"Up in the racks," John said as he slipped into the pilot's seat. "Your stuff too, Nat."

Steve took Natasha's bag and stowed it up in the netting beside his shield. Natasha made her way across the cabin to the chair at John's side. The design was alien in nature, faintly reminiscent of the architecture Natasha had seen years before in John's video from Atlantis.

"Can you show me how to fly this?" Natasha asked.

"Sorry," John said. "You need the Ancient gene to operate the Jumpers and you don't." As he spoke, the dash lit up with alien designs, schematics and maps. "Captain, are you ready to go?"

"Equipment secured, Colonel," Steve said as he took the last seat in the cabin. "Would Dr. Jackson want to sit up here?"

A call of "I'm fine," drifted in from the back as Teal'c said, "Daniel Jackson is occupied with his work in translating the true meaning of the stone tablets."

"Never get between Daniel and a translation, that's what General O'Neill always says," John contributed as he conducted the pre-flight check. He tapped the holographic display, and said, "Flight, this is Alpha Victor Fiver, ready for launch."

An official voice came over the speakers. "Alpha Victor Fiver, this is Flight. Hold for launch."

The ramp at the back of the ship closed with a hiss as the air in the cabin started to circulate quietly.

"Alpha Victor Fiver," came the voice again, "All craft are on hold. You have a thirty-second window to clear the area. Over."

"Roger, Flight." John took hold of the controls. Natasha experienced a moment of disorientation as the view in the screen moved as though the ship was rising, but she didn't feel any change in orientation.

"Activating cloak," John announced. The view screen shimmered gently.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, leaning forward.

"This ship is outfitted for space flight," Teal'c explained as John navigated the ship out of small opening in the hangar doors. "You are experiencing the effects of the internal dampeners and artificial gravity."

"All right, folks, settle in," John said as they cleared the doors. He pulled the nose of the ship up at an impossible angle of ascent, and they were off. The speed at which they flew upwards took Natasha's breath away.

It was amazing.

"Why are we going up so steep?" Steve asked.

"We've got less than twenty seconds to get clear," John explained. A new schematic popped up on the screen, showing a multitude of dots moving in a three-dimensional space. "It's easier to just go up and over civilian airspace, instead of worrying about maneuvering around other craft while cloaked. Earth skies are crowded."

"No one can see us?" Natasha asked.

"Not a soul. Radar can't pick us up. We're flying dark."

Within minutes, John leveled the ship off, pointing it east. Below them lay the entire Eastern Seaboard. A few clouds floated on the horizon. Above the ship, the blue of the sky thinned to black at the edges.

"How high are we going?" Natasha asked. Her heart beat rapidly in perfectly justified excitement. She had never flown so high above the earth before.

"I don't know, how high do you want to go?" John asked.

Natasha took her eyes off the display for long enough to fix John with a glare. "Are you showing off for your mother, soldier?"

"Maybe just a little," John admitted. "Anyone object to us taking the scenic route to Area 51?"

"No," Teal'c said, sounding amused.

John pulled back on the controls and the ship flew higher. The blue sky emptied away to the black of space around them, the planet below them.

Natasha could scarcely breathe. When she had been a child in the Department X compound, she'd spent hours staring up at the night sky, the stars spiraling out across the black. That had been a decade before the first man had flown into space, and young Natalia Alianovna Romanova had dreamed private dreams of dancing among the distant stars.

The Red Room had taken those dreams from her, along with so many others. But that was not something she chose to mourn; rather, she recalled fondly her childhood dreams of the night sky.

Steve got up to stand behind Natasha's chair. "Would you look at that," he said. "I sure never expected to see that when I woke up today."

"Makes you remember what it's all about," John said. "Maybe after this is all over, I can take you for a spin around the moon. Now _that_ is worth the cost of admission, I tell you."

"When I came out of the ice, they showed me pictures of the moon landing, even some pictures of Earth from space," Steve said. "I never thought I'd see it for myself."

"If you think this is cool, you should see Jupiter." John flew them over the world, banking slightly to the left. "But that's more of an overnight trip in this little Puddlejumper. Okay, I'm going to take her down now."

Natasha took a steadying breath. "Aren't you worried that you'll show up on re-entry?" she asked, her mind going back to practical matters.

"Not really," John said as he plotted a course on the screen. "We'll pretend to be a meteor burning up on entry."

"Do not meteors move very fast?" Teal'c asked.

"They do," John confirmed. "As will we. Dr. Jackson, you may want to hold on to something."

They heard a sigh from the hold. "Fine."

"Everyone, buckle up." When all was secure, John angled the nose of the ship down, and they fell to Earth.

Re-entry was even more exciting than Natasha had expected. The atmosphere burned against the ship's view screen, and the turbulence at their speed was too much for the ships dampeners to fully mask.

Then they were through the worst of the atmospheric turbulence, and the ship sped towards the mountain range in the distance.

"That's Nevada down there," John said. "And that over there, to the south, is Las Vegas. It's more interesting at night."

"I drove through there during my trip last year," Steve said in wonder. "It's so small from up here."

"Flying is the only way to see a world," John said. The three-dimensional schematic blinked and started moving in real time. "Hold that thought. Flight, this is Jumper Three, inbound for GroomLake."

"Jumper Three, welcome!" came a voice that didn't have any of the formality of normal air traffic control. "How was re-entry?"

"Still bumpy, Doc, but nothing fell off, so that's good. Where can I park her?"

"Landing pad seven," said another, more official voice. "Please do not uncloak until the doors are closed; skies are clear and the tourists are out."

"Roger, Flight."

In a few minutes, they flew over a military base, their speed slowing. The jumper came to a halt mid-air, slowly maneuvered itself into a hangar, and landed on a marked green X.

John set the ship down without a bump. "Thank you for flying Puddlejumper Air," he said as he powered down the ship. "We appreciate your patronage."

"That was a great ride," Steve said. "And so fast."

"Tell me about it," John said. "I can't fly commercial anymore."

On the other side of the view screen, the hangar door was slowly closing.

"John," Natasha said. "How do you plan to explain our presence here?"

"SHIELD consultants on a security matter, approved by General O'Neill," John replied. "Why?"

Natasha pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket. "This is a military base," she said as she wiped off her lipstick. "They will know who Steve is, even without his shield."

"So they know Captain Rogers, so what?" John asked. "What are you doing?"

Natasha buttoned her blouse to the top button. "I'm going to be Captain America's shadow." With her fingers, Natasha parted her hair down the middle of her head, smoothing it flat.

Then she closed her eyes, and became someone else. Someone non-threatening. Someone quiet, introverted, who didn't think she was all that important and didn't understand why anyone else would think she was.

Someone who no one would look at twice.

She opened her eyes. The hangar door had fully closed. "We should get moving," Natasha said, voice soft and unassuming. She let her shoulders hunch in a bit, as if she didn't want anyone to see her.

John was staring at her in fascination. "What did you just do?" he asked, belatedly hitting the ramp release on the dash.

"Became someone I'm not," Natasha replied. "We should go, we have work to do."

She chanced a glimpse over her shoulder. Steve was frowning, while Teal'c studied her with an impassive face.

Natasha ducked her head, her hair falling in front of her face. That wasn't the look she was going for; too submissive. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ears, a practical way to wear long hair.

She was rather glad Tony Stark wasn't with them; he wouldn't have been able to let this go.

Natasha stood and went to the hold, reaching for her weapons' bag, only to find it out of reach. Dr. Jackson jumped up and handed it down for her.

"Thank you," Natasha said. Dr. Jackson gave her an odd look, but didn't say anything. Natasha retrieved her knives and the pistol she could hide in her jacket, but regretfully left her Widow's Sting in the bag. She couldn't see how her current persona could explain it away through US military security.

She tossed the bag back up into the netting. "You should take your shield," she said to Steve over her shoulder.

"I was planning to," he said. "Why?"

"A military base full of Captain America fans," Natasha pointed out. "If you were to flash the shield, I'll be able to get in anywhere unnoticed."

"Maybe not anywhere," John said. "But close."

Steve retrieved the shield bag from the overhead rack. "Anything else I need to know?" he asked sarcastically.

"You're Captain America, I thought you made all the plans," Natasha said.

John sighed. "How is this my life?" he asked the jumper ceiling. "Okay kids, let's get moving."

Dr. Jackson was the first one out of the jumper. "I'm going to go see what's happening on the analysis of the translation," he told Teal'c. "Come get me before you head back to Colorado Springs."

"I will, Daniel Jackson," said Teal'c. "I will accompany Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff."

"Ms. Romanoff," Natasha corrected.

"And this day gets better," John muttered, striding down the ramp.

He was met by an older man in a white lab coat. "How did it fly?" the man asked with obvious curiosity.

"Like a dream, Doc," John said. He handed the man a small tablet computer. "That's the flight data. Go nuts. I think the port stabilizer could use a little work, but you guys sure fixed up this little Jumper good after that crash."

"Always glad to hear it, Colonel," the man said. "Hi, Teal'c."

"Dr. Lee."

John angled his body to bring Steve and Natasha into the conversation. "These are those SHIELD consultants I was telling you about, come to help shore up security."

Dr. Lee's gaze froze on Steve. His eyes grew large. "Is this—Are you…"

Steve plastered on his show business smile and held to his hand. "Captain Steve Rogers. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Lee."

The flustered scientist hardly noticed as John bundled them all out of the hangar and across the tarmac. As the doctor and Steve talked, Natasha walked on a step behind, eyes and ears open.

The buildings were set apart, but Natasha had no doubt that the complex was far larger than it appeared, likely underground. "Colonel Sheppard," Natasha said quietly. "I'd like to look at perimeter security."

"We're going to see the base commander first," John said in the same undertone. "He's got the head of security in for a talk."

When they reached a building, John deftly detached Dr. Lee from Steve's side and sent him on his way. John then showed Steve and Natasha to the security checkpoint, Teal'c on their heels.

"I see why you wanted me to come along," Steve said to Natasha as John got them through security. Teal'c already had his own security pass pinned to his shirt. "I'm here as eye candy."

"Now you know how I feel," Natasha retorted. "But didn't you start your military career on stage in skin-tight clothing to shill war bonds?"

"I always liked to think that the audiences loved me for my acting," Steve murmured. Natasha had to press her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Come on," John said, waving them along. "We've got an appointment with the boss."

The base commander was a Colonel Ellison, a strict and upright man of about fifty. From the barely suppressed smile on his face while he was shaking Steve's hand, Natasha suspected he was also a Captain America fan.

Also in the room was a Major Gordon, head of security. The woman was as clear of eye as most security officers Natasha had known. She gave both Steve and Natasha a serious once-over. When she heard Natasha introduced as a civilian, however, her attention lessened and moved back to Steve.

"I'm not sure what you expect might happen, Captain Rogers," Colonel Ellison was saying. "Our security is extremely tight. Given the nature of our work, we pride ourselves on having a level of security that meets, if not exceeds that of Stargate Command."

"I understand that, sir," Steve said. He leaned forward confidently, the very picture of a true American patriot. "What concerns us is the possibly that the Winter Soldier operative has already gotten hold of several pieces of Goa'uld technology, as well as information on how to build Goa'uld healing technology. Now," he turned to Teal'c with an expression of fellow-feeling, "Your people know the Goa'uld, how they think, their motivations. You've no doubt built that into your security plans. Where we're coming from is that we understand this operative. All we want to do is to lend our expertise on that side, to make sure no one's getting at what you have stored here."

Major Gordon pursed her lips. "Our security measures have been in place for many years, Captain. We review them frequently, and implement upgrades with every technological advancement," she said. "Area 51 is the most security military installation in the world. Even Iron Man himself wouldn't be able to get into our vaults."

"It only has to happen once," Teal'c said gravely. "I know first-hand how Goa'uld technology can be used to oppress and enslave. While the tablets stolen from the museum reference healing technology, do not make the mistake of thinking that healing is all that technology can do." He fixed his eyes on the map of the world behind Ellison's desk. "Better to act overly cautious now, instead of having to deal with the ramifications of a Goa'uld acquiring technology that can be used to kill. If General O'Neill and Colonel Sheppard believe these people can help us, I would listen to what they have to say."

As speeches went, it was rather impressive, especially delivered with Teal'c's bass gravitas. Colonel Ellison was nodding, and even Major Gordon seemed to thaw a bit.

"We can review the security settings," Major Gordon relented. "Any recommendations will be taken under advisement."

"Sounds good, ma'am," Steve said, standing up and slinging his shield bag over his shoulder.

"I'll leave you with the Major," Colonel Ellison said. He hesitated for a moment, then stood a bit straighter. "Captain Rogers, I just wanted to say on behalf of the United States military, and everyone involved with the Stargate program, thank you for stopping the Chitauri last year. The thought of an alien invasion on Earth… It's something we've all planned for and never wanted to see."

"We're just glad we were able to turn them back," Steve said, shaking the man's hand. "It worked out in the end, thankfully."

Natasha stood silently and trailed along behind the Major, the Captain and Teal'c. John stayed behind with Colonel Ellison, saying, "I'll catch up."

The Major had obviously decided that since she was stuck with them, she may as well make the best of it. After a quick review of the base's layout in her office, she took them down into the Vaults.

The Area 51 underground storage facility was, in a word, vast. From the top level, Natasha could see the square pit cut into the bedrock, lined with storage units along the walls, all the way down. Each level had walkways suspended across the empty space in regular rows. The result was a multi-storey grid reaching down into the earth.

"How much of this facility are you using?" Steve asked.

"More than half," Major Gordon said vaguely. "We've been storing alien artifacts for research and development since the Stargate teams started to bring them back through the Gate in 1997."

She swiped through the glass gate using a hand-print, voice sample, and her security card. Cameras followed their every move.

"As you can see, access is strictly controlled," the Major said. She ushered the group into a large open-sided elevator. "Every access point requires the same credentials. I don't see how your guy could get in."

"It's not impossible," Natasha said from the back of the elevator. "Pre-record a voice print, then taking the target's security pass and bringing the hand with you to ensure access."

The Major's eyebrows went up, then to Natasha's surprise, the woman smiled. "The hand print measures body temperature and pulse as well," she said. "Any spikes in either vocal or physical stress set off the alarms and the section goes into lockdown. Any print without a pulse locks down the entire complex. We introduced those measures against potential Replicator incursion."

Natasha made a mental note to ask John about Replicators at a later time. "Do you ever have any research personnel taking security shortcuts?"

"Absolutely not," Major Gordon said. "Each person here understands exactly what we're doing, and what these artifacts represent to the people of Earth." They stepped off the elevator. The Major walked down the corridor and out onto the ramp across the middle of the underground cavern. The floor was a metal grid, and when Natasha looked down, vertigo chased itself around in her head.

"And don't think that access points are the only security we have," the Major said. She stopped in front of one of the storage lockers. Inside, a small stone statue was visible behind the thick glass. "Teal'c, would you care to demonstrate?"

The man stepped up to the interface. He swiped his access badge and keyed in a code to the number pad, then pressed his thumb against the access panel. The panel glowed briefly, then the glass door unsealed. Teal'c stepped back, and the Major pulled the door open and slid out the tray to show them the statue.

"You see why I don't think there is any way for someone to gain unauthorized access to our facility, let alone into the storage lockers."

"No," Natasha said. She went over to the railing and looked down into the cavern, level upon level of secrets. "This makes it easier."

The Major looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. Steve looked at Natasha. "What do you mean?"

"When you make the puzzle too complex, the result will not be to give up and go away, or to develop some complex plans," Natasha said. "When the only option is a brute strength attack, that is what you will get."

"Let's say for the sake of argument that you're right," said the Major. She slid the tray back into the vault and re-sealed it. "How would your man even gain access to the base? Perimeter security is separate from any system we have here. Every single person who enters is subject to physical inspection at the gate and on building entry."

"That won't deter him," Natasha said evenly. "He can get into anything, anywhere, and the best we can hope for is the plug the dam before the flood begins."

Footsteps sounded on the grating behind them, and John joined the group. "We all playing nice?" he asked.

"Ms. Romanoff believed that the Winter Soldier will attack in force, rather than attempt to infiltrate the base through subterfuge," Teal'c said.

"Great," John muttered. "Most of the folks down in the vault are scientists and they're not armed."

"If a direct assault really is a viable option," said the Major, her tone of voice clearly disbelieving the possibility, "Then I'll post security teams at the key access points until the threat has been neutralized."

John nodded. "I think for everyone's sake, that's the best idea. At least we'll get a better gauge on the potential threat."

"Are we certain the Winter Soldier will target the healing technology?" Steve asked, looking at Natasha.

Before she could answer, Teal'c spoke. "If he is in league with a Goa'uld, another potential target will be weaponry. Possession of even one zat'nik'tel or staff weapon could cause a great deal of carnage."

"Good point, Teal'c," John said. He turned to the Major. "Where are the ZPMs?"

"They've been in level four lockdown since yesterday when we were alerted to the potential of a threat," Major Gordon said.

"Even better."

"ZPM?" Steve asked.

"An energy source," John said. "They're Ancient, not Goa'uld in origin."

Natasha met Steve's eyes. That was just what they needed – another alien energy source. But Natasha pushed thoughts of the Tesseract away. The immediate threat was the Winter Soldier.

She looked over the railing again. A few stories down, on the north wall, two men were moving a long box along the walkway with a pallet jack. "What are they doing?" Natasha asked.

"A shipment of artifacts from the SGC came in this morning," Major Gordon said. "We're in the process of getting them squared away."

Natasha watched as the two men stopped by the wall. The box, long and metal, had an identification number clear on the side.

A long metal box. Well able to hold the body of a man.

Natasha's heart began to beat faster. "Are all artifacts transferred in similar transport containers?"

"Usually."

"What are your controls?" Natasha asked.

"The artifacts are logged and boxed at the SGC, loaded onto secure transport trucks, and brought here," the Major said. "The trucks are escorted by armed military personnel."

"All it would take is ten seconds around a bend in the road to board the transport and get into one of those boxes," Natasha said grimly. "Are the contents of the boxes inspected before they're brought down to the vaults?"

She looked over her shoulder at Major Gordon. The woman's eyes had grown wide with realization. "No," she said grimly. "They are not."

"How many boxes have been archived from this transport?" John demanded.

"Nearly all were scheduled to be put away by the end of the day," Major Gordon said. She tapped her earpiece. "This is Major Gordon to all security personnel. Send an armed team to the artifacts processing room and search all boxes shipped this morning from Colorado. Exercise caution, there may be a hostile operative on site."

"You think he's here already?" John asked.

"He could have left New York as early as seven o'clock yesterday morning," Natasha said, feeling in her pocket for her pistol. "That's plenty of time to get to Colorado before nightfall. The convoy traveled overnight, right?"

"Damnit," Major Gordon swore. "One of the archival teams isn't responding to hails."

"How long have they been offline?" John asked. In the background, Steve was pulling his shield from his bag.

"They checked into the Vaults half an hour ago," the Major said. "We can't get a visual lock on them. I'm going to—"

Deep in the cavern, the underlying hum of electricity stopped suddenly, and the entire complex was plunged into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The sudden blackness in the cavern was complete and encompassing. As cries of surprise and alarm echoed in the darkness, Natasha went into a crouch, one hand on the railing while  the other pulled her pistol from her pocket.

After a heart-stopping moment, emergency lights began to flicker on weirdly in the darkness.

"Lock down the Vaults!" Major Gordon was shouting into her headset. "No one gets in or out without full visual inspection!"

"The emergency lights are on battery power," John said, hunkering down beside Natasha.

"Power is out in the entire complex," Major Gordon reported. "That's four separate electrical systems. This is definitely not an accident. Colonel, I need to be top-side."

John nodded. "We'll find your missing people." Teal'c nodded in agreement.

"If he's down here, you get this son of a bitch," Major Gordon said, and took off running towards the ladder embedded in the far wall.

"Great," John said. "Any idea how the Winter Soldier knocked the power out?"

"None," Natasha said. She tugged on a nearby vault door to see what would happen. It swung open easily.

"This is more than just the power," John said. "The security system is supposed to keep the vault doors locked in the event of a power outage."

"We need to find the Winter Soldier," Natasha said. "Where do you keep the healing technology?"

"Level twelve," John said. "Weapons are on ten."

"Shouldn't we try to find the missing archival team?" Steve asked as John guided the four of them to the ladder.

"There's no point," Natasha said as John pried open the half-circle of flooring to allow ladder access down. "If they're not already dead, they're incapacitated. Either way, they can't help us."

 Teal'c went down the ladder first, then Steve. Natasha looked at John. "We'll argue about this later," he said. His expression was not that of her son, not now. He was a soldier and his people had been attacked, To John, this was war.

Natasha went down the ladder without comment.

They ran into another archival team on the fifth level. They didn't know anything, and John told them to head up to the top level and park it until this was all over.

"How many other teams are down here?" Steve asked as Teal'c pried open the grating to level six.

"Major Gordon reports three," John said. They were speaking quietly now, voices of the battlefield. "They're being told to sit tight and keep quiet."

On the ninth level, they paused. Using hand signals, John indicated that he and Teal'c would search the weapons level.

Steve nodded, and signed that he and Natasha would keep going down.

John obviously didn't like it, but he gave Natasha an overly optimistic thumbs up anyway and down they went.

On the next level, they separated, Teal'c and John melting into the darkness. After a quick glance at Natasha, Steve hefted his shield and went down the ladder. Natasha followed, her gun held ready.

The eleventh level appeared deserted. Faint sounds came from the levels above. Natasha hoped that John and Teal'c wouldn't run into the Winter Soldier; the thought of her son facing the Winter Soldier terrified her, because she knew that they both aimed true, and both shot to kill.

Steve touched her arm and pointed. Natasha nodded. They went down the ladder rungs in silence. The ladder to the thirteenth level, the final one on the complex, was sealed off, the grating locked with an old-fashioned padlock. It didn't look as if it had been tampered with.

Holding his shield up and battle-ready, Steve moved off into the darkness. Natasha covered him.

The emergency lights only illuminated pockets in the blackness. All around them, shadowed storage cases held strange and unfamiliar shapes.

There were  no signs of life.

Natasha and Steve finished their sweep of the north wall. At the north-east corner, Steve looked at Natasha, jerking his head, across the ramp or along the wall. They had no way of knowing which way held the healing technology, or if that was even what the Winter Soldier was after.

Natasha pointed at the ramp that cut diagonally across the cavern. They might be able to see or hear more that way.

Steve went first again. Natasha scanned the complex as they walked. High above, she could hear echoing footsteps, distant voices. This far down in the pit, however, there was no sound except for Steve's quiet breathing and the faint rustle of fabric.

Halfway across the ramp, Steve slowed. Natasha automatically held her pistol up, covering his back.

 Two people were unconscious, gagged and tied hands and feet to the railing in the darkest spot on the ramp. "Alive," Steve breathed as he checked the pulse on the second man. He removed the gags from their mouths to let them breathe easier.

"Earpieces?" Natasha asked in a voice quieter than a whisper.

"Gone." Steve stood and headed deeper into the darkness. Natasha followed, one step behind and to the side.

They made it across the ramp and to the southwest corner of the cavern, then Steve started along the south wall. This wall was darker than the rest, light not penetrating as deep as elsewhere. This section had larger vaults, some that took up the entire height of the level and stretched out as long as a truck.

(Something was wrong.)

Natasha could hear nothing, see nothing, but there was something that pulled at the threads of her attention.

(A scent on the air.)

That was the only warning she got. One breath

(she'd been lying on her side in bed as the Winter Soldier held her in his arms and she'd buried her nose in his hair and just breathed in the scent of him, his skin, the shampoo he'd used on his hair, wondering how she'd been granted this miracle of having him back from the dead)

and her world exploded in pain.

Every cell in her body was on fire. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't move. Gravity took her, dragged her to the ground with a crash. Her limbs wouldn't respond to her mind's control. She was helpless.

"Natasha!" Steve shouted as something burst out of the darkness.

One, two, three gunshots vibrated off Steve's shield, impossibly loud in the stillness. Then a clang as the Winter Soldier slammed bodily into Steve, his battle mask glinting in the faint light. Natasha rolled over, willing her arms to reach for her pistol, her legs to carry her to Steve's aid. But she could only watch as the Winter Soldier fought Steve, trying to pull his shield away, punching and kicking in a blitz attack.

Steve was barely able to keep his shield up under the onslaught. With a grunt, he managed to kick out the Winter Soldier's knee and throw the man against the railing.

The Winter Soldier jumped up on the top railing and dove at Steve, going over the shield, getting Steve in a headlock and hauling him to the ground. Natasha screamed in frustration and willed her arms and legs to push her up and towards the fight.

Steve clawed at the Winter Soldier's face with his right hand, his left trapped by the shield. He got his fingers around the edge of the Winter Soldier's mask and pulled it off as Natasha crashed into them. Her body wouldn't respond to her mind's call to reach for the Winter Soldier, to pull him off Steve. The Winter Soldier kicked her in the gut and she stumbled, falling in a pile of unresponsive limbs, her head slamming hard against the grating.

The Winter Soldier struggled free, getting to his feet. He went into a fight pose, lips curled back from his teeth in anger.

On Natasha's other side, Steve shot upright, but instead of attacking the Winter Soldier, he staggered back.

" _Bucky_?" Steve said in a gasp.

With a howl of rage, the Winter Soldier tackled Steve onto the grating. Steve's shield arm went wide, leaving his face and chest unprotected. With an animal fury, the Winter Soldier punched Steve in the head, over and over, until Steve stopped moving.

The Winter Soldier staggered to his feet, pulling the shield off Steve's limp arm.

And then he turned on Natasha.

Natasha made herself crawl to her feet. Her legs didn't want to obey her, but she used the railing to pull herself upright. If this was the end, she would face the Winter Soldier standing.

The Winter Soldier looked at her, blood running down his face, his eyes bright with the battle.

Then he turned and ran off down the walkway.

Steve lay motionless, but Natasha had no time to check on him. She set off at a stumbling run after the Winter Soldier. She had no idea what she was going to do; her pistol was gone, and what could her knives do against Captain America's shield?

About forty feet down the ramp, gunshots rang out. Natasha kept running. Then the sound of metal against metal, over and over again. When Natasha got closer, she could see the Winter Soldier was using Steve's shield to pry open the metal casing on a long coffin-shaped box, half pulled from a storage vault.

She pulled the knife from her boot. "Stop it!" she shouted, like a fool, like a child.

Like someone asking to die.

The Winter Soldier whirled, holding the shield up in defense. He was breathing heavily.  "Let me do this," the Winter Soldier said. Something was wrong with her ears, because it sounded as if the Winter Soldier was close to tears. "Just let me do this and walk away, Natalia."

"You haven't killed anyone yet," Natasha said, inching closer. She hoped she was right, and that Steve still lived. "Stop now, and we'll find a way out of this."

"There's only one way out," the Winter Soldier said as he aimed his gun at her over the shield.

"Please," Natasha urged. "Please, you have to know that there is no way to get out of here. Don't make them kill you."

"What choice do I have?" he yelled, gun held steady. "Natalia, there is no other way!"

Natasha took a step towards him.

"Don't!" he shouted. "Another step and I'll pull the trigger!"

She lowered her knife and stepped forward, the barrel of the gun inches from her heart.

He pulled the trigger, and the hammer of the gun clicked down on an empty chamber.  He stared at her over the shield. "How did you know?" he whispered.

"You taught me to always count the bullets," Natasha said, never looking away. "That was the second thing you taught me."

He let the gun fall to his side. "What was the first?"

"Do what you have to, to survive."

A shadow crossed the Winter Soldier's face, regret and sadness.

It was goodbye.

Natasha dove toward him, but he was already moving, throwing the empty gun over the railing and reaching for another and out of nowhere came twin blasts of light, hitting the Winter Soldier in the back and the shoulder simultaneously, twisting him around and knocking him to the ground.

He lay still.

"Mom!" John shouted, and he was swinging down from the overhead walkway. Behind the Winter Soldier, Teal'c stood in the shadows. Both men held unfamiliar weapons. "Mom, are you all right?"

"Is he dead?" Natasha asked, fear deep in her chest.

"No, just knocked out, but—"

Natasha dropped to her knees at the Winter Soldier's side. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and when Natasha felt his throat, his pulse beat evenly.

Natasha sat back on her heels on the grating. The Winter Soldier was alive.

"What the hell is going on?" John demanded.

"Steve," Natasha whispered, looking back down the ramp. She tried to stand, but her left knee folded when she was halfway up. She collapsed, Teal'c catching her before she hit the ground.

"Are you hurt?" John asked.

"I believe I heard a zat'nik'tel," Teal'c said as he helped Natasha regain her balance.

"I don't know what that is," Natasha said, stumbling down the ramp. In a faint patch of light, she could see Steve trying to sit up.

"Steve," Natasha said, going down at his side. Steve jerked around, his empty shield arm coming up. His face was a mess of blood.

"Bucky," Steve said, looking around wildly. "Where's Bucky?"

"Steve, can you breathe okay?" Natasha angled his face to the light. In spite of all the blood, none of the bones in his face looked broken. His right eye was clear, but his left eye was swollen shut.

"What the hell is going on?" Steve demanded, trying to push Natasha aside. "Where is he?"

"Stop it!" Natasha urged, holding on to Steve's shoulders. "Let me see your eye!"

She managed to push Steve's eyelid open enough to see his eye. It was red, but the eyeball appeared otherwise undamaged.

"What happened?" Steve demanded, grabbing Natasha's arms. "Who was that?"

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha pushed at Steve until he let her go. "Your shield is over here, come on."

She half-dragged, half-pulled Steve down the ramp to where Teal'c and John stood guard over the Winter Soldier. The man was still unconscious, and Natasha couldn't stop herself from going to his side.

"How long will he be out?" Natasha asked.

"Blast like that? Could be ten minutes to an hour," John said. "Want to tell me what the fuck happened?"

Natasha rolled the Winter Soldier's head into the light and wiped blood off his face with her sleeve. Behind Teal'c, Steve let out a cry. Teal'c blocked him bodily as he lunged forward.

"That's him!" Steve shouted, trying to push past Teal'c. "What did you _do_?"

Without thinking, Natasha moved between the Winter Soldier and Steve, her knife bare in her hand. "Stand down!" she shouted at Steve. "He's out cold, he can't fight back!"

"I'm not—" Steve sagged in Teal'c grip. "That's Bucky, how is that Bucky?" His breath caught in his throat. "He's dead, I saw him die!"

"He's not who you think he is," Natasha said. She put her knife back into her boot. "He's not your friend, Steve."

Overhead, footsteps clattered, voices growing closer.

"He's the Winter Soldier, he's nobody's friend," Natasha said, more to herself than to Steve. She turned back to the Winter Soldier. After checking his breathing once more to reassure herself, she began to disarm him.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, but that's Bucky!" Steve said. He managed to get himself upright. "I'd know him anywhere—"

"Your friend died seventy years ago, Steve," Natasha said. "This man may look like your friend, but he is not. He's the Winter Soldier, a Soviet soldier, that's all he's ever been."

Steve looked at Natasha with such hurt and pain in his good eye that Natasha had to look away. She was a hypocrite. How many times in the last days had she thought such things about the Winter Soldier, getting him back from the dead?

But he was the Winter Soldier, and he was her own private miracle. He didn't have  anything to do with Steve Rogers or New York or the  American army. He was hers alone.

She heard John demand a report again, and this time Steve managed to tell him what had occurred since they separated. Natasha half-listened, keeping most of her attention on the Winter Soldier for any hint that he was on the verge of regaining consciousness.

She removed the sidearm from his thigh holster, then the one tucked in his jacket. She pulled the knives from various places in his armor: his boots, his belt, the edges of his holsters. She then stripped away the instruments of escape, the garrote hidden inside one cuff, the tiny tool set embedded in his belt.

"Then I pulled his mask off and he beat the crap out of me," Steve was saying.

Vibrations in the ramp heralded the arrival of a handful of soldiers, armed with weapons and flashlights. "Sir?" one said to John.

"At ease, lieutenant, we've got him," John said. "The missing team is over that way, go see how they're doing."

The lieutenant sent two men back down the ramp. He eyed the Winter Soldier. "Should we secure the prisoner?" he asked with anger in his voice.

"The prisoner isn't going anywhere," John said. "Where's Major Gordon?"

"In the xenobiology block," the lieutenant said. "The outage did some damage to the containment cells."

"Did we lose anything?" John asked.

"No sir, the outage wasn't targeted at that."

This made Natasha look up. "What do you mean?" John asked.

"Dr. Lee said it wasn't really a power outage at all. It's a computer virus that caused a very specific reaction  in our systems."

"A virus?" John repeated. "What kind of attack was this?"

"Dr. Lee isn't really sure, sir, but he's freaking out because he thinks the code was written in Goa'uld."

John shook his head. "For fuck's sake. Does he have any idea when they can get the power back on?"

"He said maybe soon, on emergency levels. The priority is to get containment back up on Beta Level, and transportation running in the Vaults."

"Wonderful." With that, John unslung the energy rifle from his shoulder. "Best not risk it, then," he said as he  aimed the rifle at the Winter Soldier.

"Hey!" Steve shouted, as Natasha grabbed the rifle barrel and pushed it away from the Winter Soldier.

"Natasha—"

"I'm not going to let you kill him!"

John's eyes opened wide. "I'm not going to kill anyone!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to make sure he stays unconscious so we can get him out of here without anyone else getting hurt."

Natasha didn't let go of the energy rifle.

"Look, it's pretty harmless," John said carefully, pulling the rifle barrel out of Natasha's hands. "A couple more shots will be fine. Hell, I could hit him a dozen times and all it would do would keep him unconscious.

"How can I believe you?" Natasha said after a moment.

"Because I don't lie to you," John said. "These are Wraith blaster, they're designed to knock people out, not kill them. Wraith can't eat dead people."

Natasha looked down at the Winter Soldier. "Would you shoot me with that?"

"I would," John said. "But I'd really rather not demonstrate  right now because that's one more body we'd have to carry up on out of here."

The Winter Soldier's fingers on his metal hand were starting to curl, a tell-tale sign that he was close to waking up. Natasha had no time to think this through; if she let him wake up, people would die.

Sick to her stomach, Natasha moved aside. She made herself watch as John shot the Winter Soldier three times with the energy rifle.

"All right," John said, turning back to the security team. "Two of you, go get the transport, I want to get this guy over the elevator now. The rest, fan out and see what he may have gotten into. Let's move!"

The security detail jumped into action.

"Teal'c?"

"Colonel."

"Do you know of any Goa'uld computer hackers?"

"None, but if one wanted to create something that would disable the power systems in this way, an understanding of Tauri power systems would be essential."

"Any thoughts about who would do that within the SGC?"

Teal'c looked grave. "You think sabotage."

"Yeah, I do." John rubbed his hand over his face as he knelt beside the Winter Soldier. "Could this guy have built the computer virus himself?"

"I don't think they ever included computer languages in his programming," Natasha said.

John frowned at her. "What? His what? You know, never mind. You don't think it's him who did this."

"I wouldn't think so."

"The only people proficient in Goa'uld who are also skilled in computers are Colonel Carter and  Dr. McKay," Teal'c said. "Vala Mal Doran has no time for the intricacies of computer programming, although if she were to put her mind to it, I believe she could become proficient in short order."

"So the only ones are the three people in the world least likely to work with a Goa'uld," John said.

Steve, who had been leaning against the railing, stepped closer to Natasha. He was glaring at her with his good eye.

"Don't start," Natasha warned.

"How could you let Sheppard shoot an unconscious man?" Steve demanded.

"Because I know what the Winter Soldier will do if he wakes up unarmed and surrounded by the enemy," she snapped. "He would rather die than let himself be taken. Do you think I want that?"

"You let Sheppard shoot an unarmed man," Steve repeated.

"And if it keeps him alive, I'll do it again," Natasha said, locking eyes with Steve.

Mercifully, the security team returned then with the transport. Teal'c helped them lift the Winter Soldier onto the flat surface as John held the energy rifle on the man, just in case.

One of the sergeants let out a grunt as they settled the Winter Soldier onto the dolly. "What does this guy eat for breakfast, lead bricks?"

"That's what happens when you've got a Soviet clockwork arm," John said. "Come on, let's move."

The security team got the Winter Soldier centered on the transport, handcuffing him with more force than necessary. One went back to retrieve the Winter Soldier's weapons, while Teal'c handed the Winter Soldier's battle mask to John.

"What's this thing do?" John asked, holding the mask up to his face.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her son's face disappearing behind that particular mask. "Vision augmentation capable of seeing in any light level, and oxygenated environmental protection for breathing in toxic or low-oxygen environments," she said.

"Cool." John tossed the mask onto the transport beside the Winter Soldier. "All right, let's go."

The palette jack moved easily in spite of its load, and Natasha found herself limping along at John's side. After a few seconds, she heard Steve pick up his shield and follow with a heavy step.

Halfway back to the elevator, the lights flickered back on.  "Nice one, Doc," John murmured, as the sergeant's shoulder radio crackled to life.

"Security team nine, report," came Major Gordon's voice.

John stepped up to the sergeant's side and took the radio from him. "This is Colonel Sheppard with team nine. We've got the prisoner and are heading to the surface. Don't suppose you can give us a lift?"

"The elevator's working," Major Gordon said. "That's about all we've got right now. The virus fucked up a lot of our systems, nearly everything but environmental and lights and transport."

"Actually," Dr. Lee added on the radio. "Figuring this out  might go a little faster if I had some help getting the virus out of our systems."

John glanced at Teal'c. "Sam's on the _Hammond_ , isn't she?"

"Yes, and they are in deep space," Teal'c confirmed.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do to get McKay back here," John said into the radio. "No promises, though, the SGC may not be able to reach Atlantis."

"I'll have Colonel Ellison make the request to General Landry personally," Major Gordon said.

"That would be best." John caught Natasha looking at him. "I'm not Landry's favorite person," he said in a stage whisper.

Natasha had no energy left to smile. She kept her eyes on the Winter Soldier's motionless body and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

At the surface, outside the wide-open security doors, Major Gordon was standing beside Dr. Jackson. She looked beyond irritated.

"Whatever he did fried very specific systems," the woman said. "Our detention facilities included. We can't hold him here."

"So we'll take him to the SGC," John said. "Not a problem."

"Unless that was the point of the exercise," Major Gordon said.

Natasha shook her head. "He expected to get out of here," she said. "That was his plan, no other."

The Major turned her glare to Natasha. "Sir," she said. "Don't you find the timing of all this rather… convenient?"

"Not really," John said cheerfully. "If Captain America really was working with a former KGB agent to break into this place, none of this would have happened until tomorrow." He gestured at the security officers to take the prisoner to the Jumper hangar. "Don't you trust anyone, Major?"

"I'll trust God when he passes a background check."

John grinned. "I like the way you think, Major."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Just find out why this asshole felt the need to cripple my base and assault two of my people. Sir."

* * *

At the Jumper, they hit the first snag.

 "I will not ride up front," Natasha said as the security officers carried the Winter Soldier into the hold, putting him down none-too-gently on the floor.

John was starting to get frustrated. "Natasha, I've got two security guards—"

"Who will get their necks broken if the Winter Soldier wakes up," Natasha interrupted. "He knows me, he won't hurt me."

"He shot you with a zat!" John exclaimed. "He was going to shoot you with a gun when we got to you!"

"He's not armed now—"

"You just said he was capable of neck-breaking!"

Sick of the argument, Natasha went over to the bench seat and sat down. "We should go."

"This is the stupidest conversation I have ever had," John said. "What proof do you have that he won't snap your neck if he wakes up?"

"He knows me," Natasha said again. "I'm the only familiar thing here. Put him back here with anyone else and he'll attack. Leave him by himself, he'll try to punch his way out and that's not a good idea in a flyer!"

John looked at Teal'c, then Dr. Jackson, then back to the man lying on the floor. "Fuck," he muttered. "Alright, everyone else up front to the cabin."

"Colonel!" Steve yelped. "You can't be serious!"

"My ship, my rules," John said. "But if we hear anything, I'm sending Teal'c back with the blaster set to wide dispersal."

"Fine," Natasha said shortly.

Steve glared at John, then at Natasha as the others moved past them into the cabin. "I don't like this," Steve said.

"And I don't care," Natasha said.

With a glower, Steve moved up into the cabin.

John caught Natasha's arm once the others were out of earshot. "Remember what we talked about," he said.

"I will not help him escape," Natasha hissed in John's ear. "I gave you my word."

"So what is this?" John asked. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping everyone alive. Your people as well as the Winter Soldier." She looked up at her son's face. "I do not believe you want to risk harm to your people."

"Yeah, well, I also don't want to risk harm to my mother," John retorted. "Jesus Christ. If you need any help, just say the word."

John went into the cabin. The ramp at the back of the Jumper rose and sealed with a hiss, and only then did the door between cabin and hold close, cutting off Steve's mournful stare.

Natasha was alone with the Winter Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Stargate weapon links:
> 
> [Zat'nik'tel](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Zat'nik'tel) (which the Winter Soldier used to shoot Natasha)  
> [Wraith blaster](http://stargate.wikia.com/wiki/Wraith_stunner_rifle) (which John used to shoot the Winter Soldier)
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/) if you want to look at gifs of Sebastian Stan's hair or anything.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

As Natasha suspected he might, the Winter Soldier regained consciousness shortly after the Jumper lifted off.

It was not obvious; anyone else would have been unaware of the change, but Natasha was waiting for the slightest irregularity in his breathing, the flicker under his eyelids.

Natasha sighed. "It is only you and me," she said in Russian. "We are alone."

The Winter Soldier opened his eyes, turning his head to her. "After all these years, this is how you betray me," he said softly. His hands flexed against the restraints.

"Yes, by saving your life," Natasha replied. "Are you hurt?"

He closed his mouth, glaring at her.

Slowly, her muscles aching, Natasha knelt beside him. "Sit up, you are making my back ache to look at you." His eyes never left her face as she took hold of his arm and hauled him into a sitting position. "I'm going to take these off now." Natasha removed a small key from her pocket. "I told Colonel Sheppard that you would not kill me, did I speak the truth?"

The Winter Soldier's lips curled into an ugly smile. "Your son left you alone back here with me," he said. "You didn't tell me that the boy was mentally deficient."

Natasha unlocked the handcuffs. The Winter Soldier remained where he was. "I am trying to keep everybody alive," she said, laying the cuffs aside. "I have lost too much in my lifetime to trade your life for others."

He made his move then, grabbing Natasha and throwing her against the bulkhead, flattening himself on top of her. His hands held her arms down, his legs across hers. When he made no attempt to go for her throat or her eyes, Natasha relaxed underneath him. "What do you hope to accomplish by this?" she asked, irritated. "They left me no weapons."

"I could kill you," he ground out, his eyes flashing. "You betrayed me—"

Natasha rolled to the side, twisting out of his grip. "I have only ever made one promise to you!" she said hotly as she pushed him away. "I told you I would stay alive, and keep you alive! I failed you once and I will not do it again!'

The Winter Soldier made a disgusted sound in his throat. "So to keep me alive, you hand me over to the enemy!" He looked around the hold of the Jumper. "Your mother is a crazy fool!" he shouted in English, his voice rough with his peculiar flat American accent. "And you are a fool to have such little regard for her life!"

John's voice came over the intercom. "If you kill her, I'll fly this jumper up into orbit and space you," he said flatly. "That will burden me with no end of paperwork, so why don't we all just calm down and shut the fuck up?"

The Winter Soldier leaned against the bench. "Charming boy you've got there," he said sarcastically.

The rest of the flight was horrible. The Winter Soldier sat with his back against the bulkhead, glaring at Natasha. She returned his glare, aching too much to be bothered by his animosity. Even bruised and battered, he was beautiful to look at.

"Why did you do it?" Natasha asked after a while.

He narrowed his eyes. "Is this where the interrogation begins?" he demanded. "They leave me back here with you, looking all fragile and wounded, and I suddenly tell you everything?"

"I look fragile?"

"Stop it!" he said forcefully. "Do you think I don't know your techniques? How you manipulate men? It will not work on me!

Natasha pressed her hand against her forehead. "Stop yelling. If you don't want to talk to me, so be it."

She closed her eyes, so tired. She hadn't slept the previous night in the Stark Tower penthouse. Only Clint sleeping by her side had kept her sane in those long dark hours of wondering.

After a minute, Natasha felt the Winter Soldier settle in at her side. His metal arm went around her shoulders, a familiar solid weight.

She leaned against him with a sigh. "What have you gotten yourself into, _soldat_?" she murmured.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. "Were you badly hurt?" he asked.

"The weapon you shot me with…" Natasha wrapped her hand around his fingers. She'd always loved his hands, so strong and sure. "It felt like every part of my body was on fire all at once. I couldn't move." She shuddered at the memory of the pain, of the helplessness. "Don't ever shoot me with that again."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was told only that it would disable, not that it would hurt."

"And why would you want to disable me?" Natasha asked, twisting her neck to look at him.

The Winter Soldier clenched his jaw. "There were two of you," he said. "If I had to fight both of you, someone would have died."

"Why didn't you disable Captain America instead?"

He pushed his hair back from his face. "When was the last time I could take you in a real fight?" he asked. "When you were fifteen?"

"Sixteen," Natasha murmured, falling back on the convenient fictions she'd told him about her age. "Your arm makes you top-heavy and off-balance on uneven ground."

"So you've been telling me for years." He kissed her hair, his breath warm on her scalp.

Alone, back here, Natasha could almost pretend that everything would be all right.

"What are they going to do with me?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I don't know," Natasha responded truthfully.

"I'm not going to rot in some American military prison," he told her. "I'm not. I'm done being someone's science experiment. I'm not going to let these Americans do that to me."

"They won't experiment on you," Natasha said, even though she didn't know what John's people might do to an enemy like the Winter Soldier.

He let out a heavy sigh. "I need you to make me a promise," he said.

"No."

"Natalia—"

"No!" she said again. She grabbed a strap on his jacket and gave him a shake. "Whatever you want, I will not do it."

He shushed her, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips. "If they are going to lock me in a box for the rest of my life, I need you to promise me that you'll kill me before—"

She kissed him hard, shutting him up and giving herself the space to think. She knew the Winter Soldier's horror of captivity, of being restrained against his will. That was one of the reasons she had removed his handcuffs in the back of the Jumper. Otherwise, he would have lashed out in a frenzied effort to free himself.

She pulled back from the kiss. The Winter Soldier's eyes opened slowly. "No," she said, and she saw the light dim in his eyes. "But I will save you. That is what I promise. I will save you."

"Natalia, please—"

She shook her head. "I will not kill you," she said. "You cannot ask such a thing of me, you cannot."

"You don't understand," he said in a whisper. "It's that… I remember…"

His voice trailed off as he pulled away from her. He closed his eyes for a moment, and she watched as he drew in on himself, putting his emotions on ice. When he did speak, it was with the cold efficient voice of winter's soldier. "We're slowing down."

"How do you know that?" Natasha asked. She hadn't felt any change in the ship's speed.

The Winter Soldier slid over to the other side of the cabin. "You can't hear that whine? That hum in the ship? It's changed."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't hear anything."

 As soon as she spoke the words, John's voice came over the intercom. "We're landing. Outside are more weapons than you'll be able to count. Now, how are we going to play this?"

The Winter Soldier fixed Natasha with a sardonic glare as he said, "Is this anyway to treat a guest, Colonel?"

"He will not cause any trouble," Natasha said, kicking the Winter Soldier's shin. "Isn't that right?"

The door between the hold and the cabin slid open. John stood in the doorway, the blaster in his hands pointed at the Winter Soldier. "Up," was all John said.

With one final look at Natasha, the Winter Soldier stood, hands loose at his side.

"Handcuffs."

"Seriously?" the Winter Soldier said, not moving. "We've only just met."

John ground his teeth. "Agent Romanoff, can you please secure the prisoner for transport?"

The Winter Soldier stood still as Natasha put the handcuffs on him, this time snapping them behind his back. "This reminds me of Gdansk," the Winter Soldier said to her in Russian.

"Stop it," she told him. He was acting oddly, not like he normally did around other people. Normally, he was as cold and distant as his name, saving his warmth and personality for her alone. This man was verging on cocky, sarcastic.

It made her uneasy.

"Now, we go," John said. The back hatch lowered, and in the artificial light of the hangar, several soldiers stood, armed and ready for action. "Move."

With a sigh, the Winter Soldier strode down the ramp and out among the soldiers. Natasha followed closely, unwilling to be separated from him, especially with so many guns aimed at his heart.

"Now what?" the Winter Soldier asked over his shoulder.

"Down to the detention level," John said. A phalanx of soldiers moved, guiding the Winter Soldier towards a non-descript elevator big enough to hold an automobile; even so, the number of people made it a tight fit with everyone from the Jumper and a handful of soldiers.

As the elevator began its descent, the Winter Soldier caught Natasha's attention and rolled his eyes. Even handcuffed and injured, the Winter Soldier would have been able to incapacitate everyone in the elevator and get free in under thirty seconds.

Natasha shook her head at him. She'd be able to stop him if he did anything, and she would. She hoped he realized that.

The Winter Soldier grinned, and let his attention wander over to Steve. The Captain's injuries were healing quickly, but his eye was still swollen and bruised.

"You should get some ice for that," the Winter Soldier drawled, and in a flash Steve pushed into the man's personal space.

"Who are you?" Steve demanded, glaring down at the Winter Soldier. Natasha tried to shove Steve back, but Steve wouldn't move and the Winter Soldier was already standing with his back to the elevator wall.

"Who am I?" the Winter Soldier repeated, his jaw stuck out in defiance. "I'm the guy who was this close to turning your face into meatloaf, that's who I am."

"What," Steve growled, "Is your name?"

The Winter Soldier cocked his head to the side, "Don't have one," he said. "I'm nobody. Just like you used to be, _Captain_."

Steve went white under his bruises and he tried to push through Natasha to get to the Winter Soldier, but John's voice cut through the tension. "Captain Rogers, stand down!" John ordered. After a moment, in which Natasha honestly thought it might come to blows in the elevator, Steve let her push him back.

The Winter Soldier shook his head as he looked at the elevator number display. "American military discipline," he muttered.

"Hey, you don't get to talk," John responded. "You broke into my military installation and _shot_ _my_ _mother_ and seriously messed up my day. Close your mouth before I knock you out again."

The Winter Soldier clenched his jaw, but said no more.

Steve was shaking his head at the exchange. "Colonel, you don't understand--" he began.

"No, I understand all right," John interrupted. "Each and every single one of you has ruined my plans for a week of surfing in California. If I'm stuck with you Cold War misfits, you're going to be quiet about it so I can figure out how I'm going to fix this clusterfuck. Now, we're going to take the prisoner to the detention cell and the two of you to the infirmary."

The elevator doors open, and John directed the soldiers out, followed by Teal'c and Daniel. Steve glared at the Winter Soldier for another moment, then disembarked.

Natasha followed Steve, and John waited until the Winter Soldier was off the lift before exiting the elevator. "To the left," John said, his blaster aimed at the Winter Soldier's back.

At the end of the hall, a door opened into a detention room. Inside the room, another security officer stood by the open cell door. General Jack O'Neill was leaning against the wall. "So," he said to Natasha. "This is interesting." He glanced over her head. "Daniel, I hear you guys had an exciting morning."

Dr. Jackson went over to stand beside Jack. "You have no idea," he muttered as the Winter Soldier was shown into the room. "Teal'c got to have some fun, though."

The conversation was at the back of Natasha's attention; she focused her whole mind on the Winter Soldier, his sudden blankness at the sight of the detention cell, the tension in his hands.

"In the cell," John said behind the Winter Soldier. "Go on."

The Winter Soldier looked at Natasha, heaviness in his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then he took the last dozen steps into the cell. The clang of the door closing echoed in Natasha's head.

 "Hands," said the security guard. He waited until the Winter Soldier stood against the bars before removing the handcuffs and pulling them out of the cage.

Jack let out a breath. "So you're the Winter Soldier," he said.

The Winter Soldier finished his scan of the detention cell, the neatly made bed, the small sink and toilet on the far wall. "No."

Natasha's eyebrows went up. Jack frowned at the man. "Agent Romanoff says you are."

The Winter Soldier leaned against the bars and stared at Jack. "Agent Romanoff lies for a living, General," he said, as if to a child. "Which, if I recall correctly, you already know."

The General walked over to the cell. He did not look happy. "If you're not the Winter Soldier, then who are you?"

The Winter Soldier frowned dramatically. "I can't say as I know," he said. "But then, who are any of us?"

Jack refused to be baited. "You're the guy who broke into my base and messed up one of the most complex computer systems on the planet."

"Okay," the Winter Soldier said. "That one was me."

"You assaulted two of my scientists and two SHIELD agents."

"Two scientists, one SHIELD agent, and one suspended SHIELD agent," the Winter Soldier corrected.

"How did you find out about that?" Steve interrupted.

The Winter Soldier looked at the ceiling for a moment. "I hear things," he said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm having a conversation with someone who didn't get his military rank by wearing tights."

Jack shook his head. "Colonel Sheppard, your prisoner, your call."

John handed his blaster to a nearby security guard and picked up a pile of folded cloth. "I know that Agent Romanoff searched you for weapons, but I'm going to need your uniform as well."

For a moment, the Winter Soldier didn't move. "Are you serious?"

John shoved the fabric through the bars. "Your uniform."

The Winter Soldier raised his eyebrows, looking at Natasha. "Like mother, like son?" he said mockingly.

"Stop it," Natasha ordered.

"I would like nothing better, Natalia," the Winter Soldier said. He grabbed the clothing from John and tossed it on the bed. "You're the one who put me in here. You remember that."

He stripped off his uniform with a complete lack of modesty. His jacket, the bulletproof overshirt, cotton undershirt, boots and pants, all came off in quick succession. He kicked them over to the bars when he was done.

Under the florescent lights, the scars on his muscular body stood out harshly. The scarring on his shoulder may have been the most recent, but others lay on his skin, marks of a lifetime at war. His metal arm glinted under the light, the plating covering his shoulder marked by rough scratches.

"Underwear, too," John said as the Winter Soldier reached for the American clothes.

The Winter Soldier looked at John, annoyance evident. "What exactly do you think I've got down there?" he demanded.

"Stop talking and just do it."

The Winter Soldier rolled his eyes as he stepped out of his underwear and threw it at the bars. "As you can see, I'm not hiding anything," he said with a gesture toward his groin.

"You can get dressed now," John said. He'd never taken his eyes off the Winter Soldier's face.

The Winter Soldier picked up the thin white cotton clothing, stepping into the pants. "Isn't this what you make your American mental patients wear?"

"All patients in the infirmary wear this," John said. "Best we could do on short notice."

The Winter Soldier pulled the shirt over his head. The width of his metal arm caught in the sleeve, and he couldn't get the shirt straight on his shoulders.

"Come here," Natasha said, going over to the bars, pulling her smallest knife from her forearm sheath as she went. The Winter Soldier hesitated for a moment before moving to the bars and offering her his left side. With a few deft slices, she cut the left sleeve off the shirt, freeing up his metal arm. The red star on his shoulder was scratched and dented, but stood out clearly against the white fabric.

Natasha slipped her knife away and used both hands to smooth the shirt straight on the Winter Soldier's shoulders. He gave her an unreadable look as she stepped back.

She didn't know if the exercise of having the Winter Soldier disrobe in front of so many people had been to determine that he was unarmed, or if it had been to humiliate the prisoner before interrogation. But Natasha wasn't going to be a party to this any more.

The Winter Soldier was still looking at her, and she was reminded of the promise she had made to him in the ship. _I will save you_.

"Now what?" the Winter Soldier asked, tearing his gaze away from Natasha. "Are you sending someone to get the car battery and rusty knives?"

"Now," John said. "We are going to the infirmary. You get to sit tight and don't make any more trouble."

The American soldiers exited the room carrying the Winter Soldier's uniform. Teal'c and Dr. Jackson left, followed by Jack. John held the door, but Steve didn't move.

"You heard the Colonel," the Winter Soldier said to Steve. "Get out."

Steve stepped up to the bars. "I am going to find out who you are," he said angrily.

The Winter Soldier just looked tired. "You know what I'm going to remember about today, Captain?"

"What?"

The Winter Soldier rested his forehead against the bars. "That when you went down into the vaults, Natalia had your back but you didn't have hers," he said. "She got shot and you didn't do a thing to stop it. That's on you."

Steve jerked away. He stared at the Winter Soldier for a long moment before stalking out of the room.

Natasha sighed. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" she asked in Russian as she reached through the bars to touch the Winter Soldier's face. "Try to get some rest."

He caught her hand and kissed her palm before she moved away. In the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. The Winter Soldier was staring at her through the bars, watching as she stepped through the doorway, and out of sight.

With a pointed click, John closed the door. "You didn't give him a weapon, did you?" John asked wearily.

"Of course not," Natasha said.

"Come on, then." John slipped his hand through the crook of Natasha's arm. "Seriously. You people. I'm not getting paid enough for this."

Natasha leaned against John as they walked. Her throat hurt and her whole body ached. She had only done what she'd needed to do to keep everyone safe, she told herself.

And it felt horrible.

* * *

Steve was on an examination bed when Natasha made it to the infirmary. Someone had given him an icepack, and he held it to his face while the doctors made a fuss over him.

"Hey, Doc," John said to a woman in a white coat. "Natasha, this is Dr. Lam. Doc, Agent Romanoff got hit by a zat gun, can you make sure she's okay?"

"I'm fine," Natasha said.

"Humor me," John said.

"Does the prisoner need any medical attention?" Dr. Lam asked as she directed Natasha to the examination bed beside Steve's.

"He's fine," Natasha said. "The only thing wrong with him is a bruised ego."

Into the infirmary strode General Landry. "Colonel Sheppard, a word?"

John peeled away from Natasha's side and went over to the General. Natasha focused on swinging her legs up onto the bed, the muscles in her legs and torso cramping in delayed reaction to the pain.

 "Was this your first time being hit by a zat gun?" Dr. Lam asked.

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember something like that," Natasha said, lying down with more force than grace.

"Hmm." The doctor ran a futuristic-looking device over Natasha's body. "I thought so. The blast disrupts nerve impulses in the muscles. Did you lose use of your limbs?"

"Temporarily," Natasha said, staring up at the concrete ceiling. "Is the headache normal?"

"It is," Dr. Lam confirmed. She laid her device aside and felt Natasha's skull. "Did you hit your head on anything?"

"I fell, once," Natasha said, flashing back to that horrible moment when her arms and legs wouldn't obey her mind.

The doctor looked at Natasha's eyes with a little light, felt the sides of her neck, asked about vomiting or confusion, and in the end gave her some painkillers and told her to be sure to hydrate before being called away.

Natasha swallowed the pills with a glass of water. When she was sure that they would stay down, she let her head fall into her hand, just for a moment. When she opened her eyes, Steve was staring at her.

"What?

Steve set the ice pack down on his knee. The swelling around his eye had begun to recede. "What the hell is going on?" he asked in a voice low with anger.

"What are you talking about?" Natasha asked.

Steve's hand tightened around the ice pack. "Who is that man?"

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha said slowly. Surely he had to remember that, even if the head injury had caused him to lose a few minutes.

"What's his name?" Steve demanded. "Where did he come from?"

"Steve—"

"Because you know what? I look at him and I see Bucky. My dead best friend is standing in that cell with some metal _thing_ where his arm should be, can you explain that to me?"

"I don't know what I can tell you."

"You don't? How about you tell me why my best friend tried to kill me seventy years after I saw him die? Why he looks at me like he doesn't know me!"

Steve's voice had risen to a shout, attracting the attention of the rest of the room, including the General and John.

"Steve, you need to calm down," Natasha said.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Steve exclaimed. "Tell me who the hell that man is!"

"Captain Rogers," John said, coming over. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem," Steve said angrily.

Natasha raised her eyebrow at her son. "Steve thinks that the Winter Soldier is actually his friend Bucky who died during the Second World War."

It was ridiculous, of course, The Winter Soldier was as American as she was. He spoke Russian like a native, his physical features European. Steve was deluded, grief making him see his friend in the Winter Soldier.

Steve clenched his jaw. "He's Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes," he said to John. "He was one of my Howling Commandos in the War."

"What happened to him?" John asked. Natasha glared, because why was he encouraging Steve? But all of John's attention was focused on Steve.

Steve's expression tightened, the look in his eyes pained and far away. "We were on a HYDRA train in Europe, trying to take it down. There was a firefight and Bucky fell… he fell out of the train as we were passing over a ravine." Steve swallowed, took a deep breath. "We were so high up, and the train was going so fast… he couldn't have survived."

"Seventy years ago," Natasha reminded him.

"You're the one who said the Winter Soldier spent time in stasis," Steve shot back.

"This is crazy!" Natasha retorted. "Steve, I'm sorry that your friend died, but he is not the man downstairs! I've known him for most of my life—"

"Bucky's like my brother," Steve interrupted. "I'd know him anywhere, and I'm telling you, that's him!"

"Okay," John said, holding up his hands. "I've got a great idea. You two put a sock in it and we'll pull the file on Sgt. Barnes, check his fingerprints against the man we've got in holding, and then we'll know for sure. Right?"

"This is a waste of time," Natasha told the men. "You're wrong."

John gave her a look. "How are you so sure?"

"Because I know him! If Steve knew his Bucky like a brother, then I know the Winter Soldier as a wife does. He's not this man!"

"Where's he from?" John asked. "What's his background?"

"He was a Soviet soldier in the War. He was a hero."

"Where's he from?" John pressed. "Hometown? Family? What's his name?"

Natasha pressed her hand on the bed rail, the metal cold against her palm. It took her a moment before she could say, "He never told me his name."

Steve looked triumphant at that, but John's frown deepened. "Captain Rogers," he said, "Would your friend ever willingly work for the Russians?"

Steve's excitement dimmed at the question. "No, I can't say as he would," Steve said after a minute.

"Natasha, would the Winter Soldier ever work for the Americans?"

"Absolutely not," Natasha said quickly.

John sighed. "I'll pull the file to check the fingerprints," he said. "You two, go up to the briefing room, we'll figure out what's next."

"What are you going to do to the Winter Soldier?" Natasha asked him.

"I wasn't planning on doing anything to him," John said. "Not until I know what I want to ask. He's secure, can't hurt anyone. He can just sit tight in the detention block."

"I need to contact my team," Steve said.

"There's a phone in the briefing room," John said.

Natasha remained on her examination table. "I need to ask the Doctor about something," she said.

John's frown shifted to alarm. "Are you okay?"

Natasha nodded. "It's a private matter."

Steve picked up his shield from its spot on the bed beside him. "Natasha?"

She made herself look slightly embarrassed, twisting her fingers and swallowing as if she was trying to hide the reaction. "It's just a small thing."

Steve's expression changed, as it always did whenever anyone mentioned a womanly complaint in his hearing. He straightened his back. "Oh, well then," he said, trying to appear unflustered. "You can meet us downstairs, then."

"Sure," she said, and watched as John led Steve out of the infirmary. Her son glanced back over his shoulder before he turned into the corridor; he hadn't been fooled by her act.

No matter. Natasha slid off the table and went over to the nurses' station. "Colonel Sheppard said I could make an off-post phone call," she said.

The nurse saw no problem with that, showing Natasha how to use the phone before drifting off. Quickly, Natasha dialed Clint. "You can stand down," she said the moment he picked up. "The target is in custody."

"Jesus, Nat, what the hell?" Clint demanded. "You left like five minutes ago."

"It feels like five days. How is everything in New York?"

"Tony and Bruce picked up some interesting footage associated with the thefts. They can send it over if you need it. Thor's bored. Where's the Winter Soldier? How's Steve?"

"Steve's fine," Natasha said. "The Winter Soldier was at Area 51. Bringing him in required an application of force."

"Force?" Clint repeated. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine. Steve got his face messed up, but no broken bones."

Clint whistled. "What did you guys do to the Winter Soldier?"

"He's in military custody."

"Shit. Are you okay with that?"

 "This is how it must be," she said. "No one died today, Clint."

"Good," he said with feeling.

"I must go," Natasha said. "Steve will call the team in a few minutes."

"So why did you call me, then?"

"Because I needed to speak with you," Natasha said. What she couldn't say, not in front of all these medical staff and whatever censor was listening on the line, was that Clint was her partner and she needed to talk to him after the mission. Before, she'd have spoken to Coulson, but he was dead and she'd never de-brief with him again. She shook her head. "Whatever Steve tells you about Bucky, he's wrong, okay?"

"Who? What?" Clint demanded. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

"I have to go," Natasha said. "I'll let you know if there is any change." She hung up before Clint could ask anything else.

Natasha turned to the airman casually loitering near the nurses' station. "Now what?" she asked him.

The airman tried to smile, but the expression faltered and died under the force of her glare. "Colonel Sheppard has asked me to escort you to the briefing room."

"Then escort."

The airman all but clicked his heels, and off they went.

* * *

Steve was alone in the briefing room, holding the icepack to his face.

"Seems that Barton thinks I'm wrong about Bucky," Steve said as soon as Natasha walked in.

"Imagine that."

"Only he brought it up before I said anything about Bucky," Steve went on. "He changed his mind when I explained."

"That you think the Winter Soldier, the Soviets' most efficient operative, is actually a dead American soldier? Captain America's best friend?" Natasha demanded. She went over to the water cooler and poured herself a drink. "This isn't some Shakespearean tragedy, Steve, this is real life."

"And you're too close to this," Steve said. "You say I'm being irrational? I say you can't see beyond your own history with him to see that I could be right."

Natasha shook her head and walked to the bay windows. The Stargate lay still and quiet in the embarkation room below.

"How old were you when you met the Winter Soldier?" Steve asked.

Natasha stared at the Stargate, wondering how all the events in her life had conspired to bring her here, into this conversation with Steve, far underground in an American military installation. "I met the Winter Soldier in the Department X compound where I grew up," she said. "I was nine, I think." It was the exact truth and a lie all the same. "The Winter Soldier's reputation as an operative was well known then, even in the children's barracks."

"What happened?" Steve asked.

Natasha pressed her hand against the glass. A tremor ran through the room as the Stargate began to spin. Steve joined Natasha by the glass as the wormhole spun open, shivering silver rippling across the surface of the stone ring.

John sauntered up the ramp, hands in his pockets. After a moment, a figure burst out of the wormhole, his mouth already moving. It was John's Canadian friend, Rodney McKay. The man was talking at John as he strode down the ramp, barely noticing when John slapped him on the back in greeting. The look of fond happiness on John's face made Natasha's heart break, just a little, at the friends her son had been forced away from.

"You can't tell John or the others," she said to Steve as McKay and John walked out of the Gateroom below. "The only reason I'm even thinking of telling you is because that man downstairs is not your friend and you need to accept that."

"I won't say anything," Steve said quietly. "Please, just tell me."

Natasha went back to the chairs at the long table and curled up in one with a good view of the door. Steve sat next to her. "The children in my unit had been involved in some pretty intense training exercises," Natasha said. "Looking back, I think the instructors were trying to weed out the ones who wouldn't be able to cut it in the intermediate program, but at the time we honestly thought that it was life or death."

"This happened when you were nine?" Steve demanded, eyes wide.

"Things were different then," Natasha said. "It was a long time ago. We'd heard there would be one last trial to test our readiness. One by one, they took the others out of the barracks, and they didn't come back." Natasha pulled her knees up to her chest. She felt cold. "Later, we found out that the successful ones were taken to another barracks, and the one who washed out were taken off the compound."

Even sixty years later, Natasha remembered the bone-deep terror she'd felt that day, as one by one, the children she'd grown up with had been pulled away into the unknown, until she was the only one left.

"I was the last to go," she told Steve. "By that point, I think I'd convinced myself that they were going to throw me into a room with a hungry bear." Natasha tried to smile, to reassure Steve, but she couldn't make her mouth work. "I told myself that no matter what, I wasn't going to let anything eat me alive. The month before, I'd stolen a pistol from the training range, with two bullets left in it. I didn't know why I'd done it, only that I had this idea that I needed a gun just in case. No true agent ever went without a gun in the compound, and I told myself that I was going to be the best agent that Department X had ever seen."

"What happened?"

"I hid the gun in my waistband when they came for me," Natasha said. She had been a tiny child, and the gun's sharp edge hurt her belly as she'd walked down the hallway, adults on either side of her holding her shoulders. She'd been so scared she didn't really feel the pain. "They made me go into a building I'd never been in before, on the far side of the compound."

The halls had gone on forever, bare concrete and harsh lights overhead and terror made every breath taste like metal on her tongue.

"We got to a doorway and they sent me inside. There was another door on the other side of the room and in front of that door was a man. They said I had to get out of that door if I wanted to live, then they closed the door behind me."

"Who was in the room?" Steve asked.

"The Winter Soldier. They didn't say that was who it was, but he had the metal arm and everyone knew that only one man had a metal arm like that. Everyone knew the Winter Soldier was deadly, without mercy."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What did you do?"

"I just stood there, trying to figure out how to get past the Winter Soldier and out the other door. I think he got bored, because he said that my time was running out."

His voice had been unexpectedly deep, and little Natalia had jumped back at the words. He'd been so big, tall and muscular, and his eyes were so cold that she had wanted to cry. But soldiers never cried, so she'd just looked at him.

"All I knew was that I didn't want to die, and that I had to get out of that room." Natasha wrapped her arms around her legs. "So I shot him."

Steve's head snapped up. "What?" he exclaimed. "You what?"

"It was only in the shoulder," Natasha said. "I'd been aiming for his chest but it was the first time I'd fired a gun when I was scared. The shot went wide and he went back into the wall and I ran for it. But I'd only grazed him, here," and Natasha touched the bit of flesh where neck met shoulder. "He grabbed me and took the gun away and shook me so hard I thought my neck would break. The others came in then. I thought the commandant was going to kill me himself, he was so angry." Natasha smiled faintly at the memory. "And do you know what the Winter Soldier did then?"

"What?" Steve asked warily.

"He laughed," Natasha said. "He held the pistol and looked at me and he laughed. Told the commandant that finally, one of the cadets had done something that impressed him." She pressed her chin to her knee, remembering that room, the adults talking loudly over her head, rough hands and angry voices, and the Winter Soldier grinning at her as he bled gently over everything.

"They took me and threw me in a room by myself for a while. I didn't know what was going to happen and that was the worst part." She stared at a spot on the table, remembering the terror she'd felt in that lonely room. "But I was also angry, because they wouldn't let me finish the exercise."

Steve looked at her, vaguely horrified. "That was what you were worried about?" he asked.

"It had been a long day," Natasha said. "And I was very young. Seems strange to think about that now." She shook her head. "After a few hours, someone came to get me. They took me to a room with a table and two chairs. I stood by one of the chairs, and after a few minutes, the Winter Soldier came in."

He'd had his shoulder bandaged, and when he looked at her, amusement danced in his eyes.

 _You must be the littlest cadet they've ever had,_ he'd said in perfect Russian. _You're too thin and your legs are too long, you look like a little spider._ He sat down at the table across from Natasha. _Tell me, little spider, what is your name?_

Natasha half-hid behind her chair, peeking out at the man with careful eyes. _They call me Natasha._ Then she hesitated and said, _But I'm really Natalia._ Feeling bold at how the Winter Soldier had not hit her for her impudence, she asked, _What is your name?_

 _I do not have a name, only a designation,_ the man said. _Sit down and stop fidgeting, child._

Obediently, Natasha crawled into the chair and tried to be still.

 _What is your designation, comrade?_ she asked.

The Winter Soldier sat back, considering. _Are we comrades?_

 _Yes, sir,_ Natasha said quickly. _I serve to protect the Motherland._

 _A little spider like you?_ He frowned at her. _I supposed that even a spider can sneak into tiny places unseen._

Natasha twisted around in the chair, unable to sit still. _What is your designation?_ she'd asked. _Are you the Winter Soldier?_

 _Where did you hear that name?_ he asked.

Natasha shrugged. _In tiny places._

He'd smiled widely at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement. He had a nice smile, Natasha realized. In fact, she liked his face quite a lot. He was so different from all the other soldiers on the compound.

_I suppose that you can call me that, Natalia. Now, come over here, I am going to tell you exactly what you did wrong today._

_Are you mad that I shot you?_ she'd asked.

_That depends on why you shot me._

She thought about dissembling, lying about her motivations, but something about the way the Winter Soldier looked at her with those intense blue eyes made Natasha think that he would know. _I shot you because I didn't want to die._

 _And you thought that if you didn't shoot me, you would?_ he had asked.

 _If I didn't get through the door, I would,_ she said firmly, with the bone-deep intuition of childhood.

The Winter Soldier studied her. _Natalia,_ he said finally, _I like you. So I am going to tell you something very important. I want you to listen very closely._

_What, Comrade Winter Soldier?_

He tapped his chin with his metal thumb. _I am going to teach you the most important thing of all,_ he said. _I am going to teach you how to survive_.

Natasha blinked, the SGC briefing room lights harsh in her eyes. Steve was staring at her in macabre fascination. She sat up, putting her feet on the floor. "The Winter Soldier was one of my instructors after that," she said. "I learned much from him."

Steve still looked rather horrified. "That was how they trained you?" he asked.

"It worked, didn't it?"

Before Steve could find the words to express the obvious outrage he was feeling, John came up the stairs. He was smiling a small, private smile

"How is Dr. McKay?" Natasha asked.

"He's good," John said. "Well, he's pissed off at being pulled back to Earth to fix this. But if anyone can figure it out what your buddy pulled off at Area 51, it's Rodney." John slid into the chair beside Natasha. "So, what's up?"

"I was explaining to Captain Rogers how the Winter Soldier cannot be his friend," Natasha said.

Steve shook his head. "When are you going to have those files on Sgt. Barnes?" he asked.

John shrugged. "It's not as easy as I thought it was going to be. Since what happened in New York last year, and the public relations nightmare of Captain America coming back from the dead, all military documentation associated with you has been locked down to the physical archives. That includes the Howling Commandoes. It'll take us a day to get the red tape lifted. Just hang tight."

The door opened, and General O'Neill sauntered in. He gave Natasha a sardonic smile. "Having a nice afternoon?" he asked.

Natasha resisted the urge to glare at him.

"General O'Neill," Steve began earnestly. "That man down in holding—"

Jack mistook Steve's meaning. "Oh, he's the Winter Soldier all right," he said. "But we can't prove it and he knows that. We've got him on the break-in at Area 51, but that's it."

"All the things you say the Winter Soldier has done—"

"Left no evidence," Jack said. "Over sixty years of rumors and there has never been a single tangible shred to link him to anything. It's like the guy never existed. Hell, most of the rumors were eventually linked to other agencies in the end."

"And what exactly are those things he's been rumored to have done?" Steve demanded, tight-lipped.

 "Are you sure you want to know?" Jack asked. "You're so sure this guy is your friend. Did you stop to think about what that means if he's the Winter Soldier? What he did working for the Soviets?"

Steve looked down at the table for a moment. When he lifted his head, he was resolute. "I have to know."

"Then I'll see what I can do," Jack said.

The phone on the table rang, and John hit the speaking button. "Briefing room."

"Colonel Sheppard, this is security in the detention block. Vala Mal Doran snuck past us into the prisoner's cell. Do you want us to remove her?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Vala?" he said, turning to Jack. "Any idea?"

"The day I understand what Vala is up to is the day I ascend," Jack replied. "No clue."

"Sir," the phone said again.

"Leave her be," John said. "But stand by." He hung up the phone and pushed a button his tablet. On the far wall, a video display popped up showing surveillance footage of the detention cell. The Winter Soldier lay on his back on the bed, flesh-and-bone arm thrown over his eyes. In the corner by the door stood a dark-haired woman wearing the black-on-black uniform of the personnel on this base. The woman was still and quiet, watching the Winter Soldier.

"Is she dangerous?" Natasha asked, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

"No," John said. "Well, not really. Only if she has a good reason."

"Why is she watching the Winter Soldier?"

"Curiosity or boredom," Jack said. "He's something new, and she likes to know what's going on."

On the screen, the Winter Soldier let out a sigh. "What do you want?" he demanded, flinging his arm down.

Vala took a few steps closer to the cell, staying well back from the bars. "A lot of people are talking about you," she said. Her accent sounded vaguely Australian and English by turns, with something Natasha couldn't place on the ends of her consonants.

"Oh yeah?" the Winter Soldier said. He got up, swinging his metal arm around for balance as usual, and sauntered to the bars. "What are they saying?"

"That you've been stealing Goa'uld weapons from around this world," Vala said. "That you broke into Area 51 this morning and nearly got away with it." She tilted her head as she looked at him. "I have one question."

"How I did it?" the Winter Soldier suggested. He leaned against the bars and smiled his most devastating smile at the woman.

Natasha's stomach jerked sideways as the Winter Soldier smiled ( _smiled!_ ) at another woman.

The woman on the screen frowned. "Make that two questions," she amended. "But first things first. Which Goa'uld are you working for?"

The Winter Soldier let his smile dim a little. It made him seem more real. "What's a Goa'uld?" he asked.

Vala walked along the perimeter of the cell to the far wall, the Winter Soldier watching her carefully. "You don't know what a Goa'uld is?" Vala asked.

"Is that some kind of terrorist group?" the Winter Soldier asked. "Sorry, I don't worked with terrorists."

Vala came to a stop and turned to face him. "Are you serious?" she asked. "You don't know what a Goa'uld is?"

"Sorry to disappoint."

"You stole Goa'uld weapons and broken into a top secret military base to steal more, and you don't even know what a Goa'uld is?" Vala demanded incredulously. "Funny, you don't look that stupid."

The Winter Soldier shook his head. "Really? This is how you people interrogate your prisoners?" he asked.

"I'm not exactly with them," Vala said. "I don't care about that stuff." She stepped within arm's reach of the cell bars, and Natasha's heart jumped at the sudden threat to the Winter Soldier. "I need to know what Goa'uld you're working with."

"I told you," the Winter Soldier said. "I'm not with any Goa'uld." He let his gaze run down her body. "So this means your people don't know you're down here."

At his raised eyebrow, Vala laughed. "Stupid and pretty, just the way I like them," she said with a smile.

The Winter Soldier let the eyebrow drop and he stood straight. "Whatever you say, I don't know anything about any Goa'uld. What are they, a cult? Fundamentalists?"

"They're not human," Vala said. She still sounded amused. "I suppose your people would call them aliens. I'm trying to figure out if you're working with any of my former colleagues."

At her words, the Winter Soldier went instantly alert. So did Natasha.

"Is she a Goa'uld?" Natasha demanded, standing up so fast she nearly lost her balance. "You let a Goa'uld into the room with him while he's unarmed? On your own base?"

"Vala's not a Goa'uld," John said, standing slowly. "She's a former host, like Sam. The Tok'ra took the parasite out of her a long time ago. She's one of us now, Natasha. One of the good guys."

Heart racing, Natasha looked back at the screen. The Winter Soldier was watching the woman closely. He had apparently come to a similar conclusion about the woman, given her words. "What kind of colleagues are we talking about?" he asked warily.

"The kind who are as likely to do business with you as to kill you."

The Winter Soldier smirked. "Sounds like some of my former colleagues."

"Any of them have glowing eyes? Super-human strength?" At the shake of the Winter Soldier's head, Vala let out a _hrmph_. "Can you at least give me a name? Was it Selkis? Abbadon? Thantos?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "It was Hera, wasn't it? This sounds like something Hera would do."

"I don't know any Hera," the Winter Soldier said. "I never got a name."

Vala pulled something from her pocket and unwrapped it. "Was it a sect? Some sort of secret organization hell-bent on galactic domination?" She broke something off the bar and put it in her mouth.

The Winter Soldier frowned. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll tell you one thing about the man I'm working for if you give me the rest of that chocolate bar."

Vala considered this for a moment. "I don't know," she finally said. "I got this in Canada. That's far away, you know."

The Winter Soldier banged his head against the bars. "What is wrong with you people?" he demanded. "Who taught you interrogation techniques?"

"Quetesh," Vala said. Slowly, she ate another piece of chocolate.

"Quetesh was the name of the Goa'uld who controlled Vala," John said quietly into Natasha's ear.

Back in the detention cell, the Winter Soldier said, "Quetesh is an idiot. When the subject of the interrogation makes an offer, you're supposed to accept with conditions, not refuse outright."

"Well, when the subject of interrogation is going to lie to you anyway, you refuse outright and continue to torture them," Vala countered. "This really is delicious. The tiny bubbles they put in the chocolate are to die for."

The Winter Soldier just shook his head.

Vala folded the wrapper back on the chocolate bar and held it out. "I'm kidding about the torture bit," she said. "We don't do that here."

When she didn't pull the candy away, the Winter Soldier reached through the bars with his metal arm. He could just reach the chocolate bar. "Thanks," he said, pulling his arm back into the cell, chocolate gripped carefully in his metal fingers.  
  
Vala shrugged. "I've been where you are," she said philosophically. "Well, not this exact cell. It's a metaphor."

"What is life but a metaphor?" the Winter Soldier asked, then shoved the chocolate hungrily into his mouth.

While he licked his fingers, Vala watched him carefully. "How does it work?" she asked, pointing at his metal arm.

He glanced down at it. "I don't know, it just does."

"How do you make it move?"

"The same way as the other one."

"I've never seen one like it before," said Vala. "Is it standard issue for your warriors?"

The Winter Soldier went to the tiny sink on the wall and drank a few handfuls of water. "It might be. I've been out of things for a while."

"Okay." Vala clasped her hands behind her back. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Pretty." She turned to leave.

The Winter Soldier sighed. "Wait," he said, slicking his hair back with a wet hand.

Vala turned.

"I'll make you a deal," the Winter Soldier said. "I'll tell you something about the person I'm working for, and you get them to feed me."

"Deal," Vala said promptly.

The Winter Soldier beckoned Vala over to the cell bars. "I've only ever met one man," he said in a low voice.

"Let me guess. He never told you his name," Vala said.

"No name, no identifying marks. He's just some white guy no one would ever look at twice."

"Is he American?"

"Couldn't tell. He spoke Russian without an accent, but he also speaks American English."

"White man, no name, no marks, could be anyone," Vala repeated. "This isn't really helping."

"I'm getting to the helpful part," the Winter Soldier chided her gently. He gave Vala a half-smile, a real one. "He told me that he worked for the International Society of Isotropic Scientists."

"What is that?"

"I don't know," the Winter Soldier admitted. "I couldn't find any reference to it anywhere."

"So why are you telling me all this for a sandwich?" Vala asked.

The Winter Soldier drew back. "Because he paid me to break into the base. He didn't pay me enough for this." He tapped the bars. "Now, your turn."

"I'll do what I can," Vala said, backing away.

"Something with meat in it!" the Winter Soldier called after her.

The door closed behind Vala. The Winter Soldier let out a breath and stood in the centre of the cell for several minutes.

Then he looked directly at the camera in the corner of the room. "Your move, Sheppard," he said, and went back over to the bed.

* * *

Vala was shown into the briefing room a few minutes later. "Do you mind?" the dark-haired woman asked John, irritated. "I promised someone I'd get him a sandwich."

"That's my prisoner, Vala, not yours," John said.

"Obviously. I don't starve my prisoners," Vala said. "They tend to be more cooperative that way." She glanced at Steve and Natasha. "Hello."

"Vala Mal Doran, Captain Steve Rodgers, Natasha Romanoff," John said. Steve stood up to shake Vala's hand. She looked him up and down.

"Jaffa?"

"US Army," said Steve with a smile.

"Pity," Vala said, and turned to Natasha. Up close, Natasha could see that Vala was a very attractive woman, with almond-shaped green eyes and a wide expressive mouth. Irrational jealousy (the Winter Soldier had smiled at this woman) coiled in Natasha's gut, and she hated it.

"Vala, why were you interfering with the prisoner?" Jack asked from the side of the table.

"Well, you weren't doing anything with him," Vala pointed out, dropping into a chair. "And I got you something out of it and all it cost me was half a chocolate bar. I rather think that a thank-you is in order." She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"You could have been interfering with my plan," John said.

"What plan?" Vala demanded. "Starve the prisoner until he starts talking?"

"No one's starving anyone," John said.

"In any event," Vala said with a smile, "I figured out who your mystery man is working for."

"A man with no description who works for an organization that doesn't exist," Natasha couldn't help saying.

Vala narrowed her eyes at Natasha's tone. "A group that didn't trust him to be smart enough to not get caught," she said. "If they had, they would have paid him enough to keep his mouth shut under pressure."

"The Winter Soldier doesn't work for money," Natasha said quickly.

 Vala leaned back in her chair, pulling her leg up to her chest. "Who is he to you?" she asked. "You don't look enough alike to be family, and if you were working together you'd been in that detention cell with him, not up here." Vala paused. "Is he your husband?"

Natasha looked at Vala for a moment, wondering about this strange woman who had once been a Goa'uld host. "Not exactly," she said finally.

"I thought as much," Vala said. "Is he always this stubborn?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's usually worse."

"Ah, well. Maybe you can make some sense of the international science people he thinks he's working for. All I care about is that they're not Goa'uld."

"International Society of Isotropic Scientists," Steve corrected her slowly. He was frowning.

"What is it, Captain?" John asked.

Steve reached for a pad of paper and started writing. "Something that Dr. Jackson said earlier this morning, it got me thinking." He turned the paper around. On it, he had written the name of the organization the Winter Soldier's mystery man had worked for: _International Society of Isotropic Scientists_

"So?" Jack said, but the memories of stone tablets and witchcraft had already begun to trickle through Natasha's head.

"What if the Winter Soldier didn't know that he'd already been told who he was working for?" Steve asked. "What if it really is a Goa'uld after all?"

He picked up his pencil and circled the first letter in every word.

 ** _Isis_**.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Vala scrambled to her feet, eyes wide. "Tell me that doesn't say what I think it says," she said, gripping the back of the chair so hard her fingers turned white.

"That can't be right," John said, turning to General O'Neill. "I thought the Isis Goa'uld symbiote died in the canopic jar years ago."

"A dead Goa'uld in a jar, what does that prove?" Vala said urgently. "This is very, very bad news."

"This Isis, is she as bad as Dr. Jackson said?" Steve asked.

"Whatever Daniel told you about Isis, she is far worse," Vala said.

"He said she was some sort of scientist," Steve started, but Vala stepped towards him, earnest with her sudden fear.

 "You don't understand," Vala said. "Isis wanted power and she would not stop at anything to get it. She experimented on people, children, trying to create the perfect host, until even Ra ordered her to stop. She didn't listen to him. When Seth removed her and Osiris from their hosts, the System Lords rejoiced."

"Just hold on," Jack tried to interject, but Vala ignored him.

"Don't you see?" she demanded. "Daniel said that the Soldier was targeting Goa'uld sarcophagus technology. Isis is the one who perfected that in the first place! If she gets her hands on even the slightest bit of naquada, she could build a weapon the likes of which you've never imagined! If she gets a ship and can go off-world—"

"She's not getting off world," John said firmly. "If, and I stress if, the Winter Soldier really is working for Isis, he didn't manage to get any Goa'uld technology out of Area 51."

"And this probably isn't Isis," Jack said. "Maybe just some wanna-be Goa'uld. Or someone who thought the acronym was cool."

Vala pushed her hair back from her face. "You say that it's not always the worst case scenario with us!" she said. "You don't understand how bad this is!"

"Here's what we're going to do," Jack said, standing up. "Vala, let's go find Daniel and see if he's got anything in those stone tablets. Sheppard, keep in contact with Area 51 on the computer virus thing. I want to know if it was written by a Goa'uld and what the hell was the point in shutting down all those systems."

"What should we do?" Steve asked, standing.

"Go grab a sandwich," Jack said. "We'll let you know when those files on Sgt. Barnes come through. You too, Romanoff."

"I'd rather help with the Winter Soldier, sir," Steve said firmly.

"Until we know more, there's nothing to help with," Jack said. "I'll have an airman show you to the commissary."

Natasha took one last look at the screen on the wall, showing the Winter Soldier sitting on the bed in the detention cell, and followed a reluctant Steve out of the briefing room.

* * *

John caught up with Natasha and Steve as they were making their way to a table in the commissary, each carrying a tray of food.

"I forgot to ask you," John said, stealing a carrot stick off Natasha's plate. "Just say we hadn't stopped the Winter Soldier this morning. What would he have done next?"

"If he had been able to get out of the vaults without being shot?" Natasha asked.

John nodded, taking the seat beside her at the table. "If you think about it, the only warning we had that anything was going down was that you contacted us about the Winter Soldier and the hand device," he said. "If you hadn't, we never would have contacted Area 51. The power outage would have caught them by surprise. Standard operating procedure for a power outage like that is to direct all security personal to secure the perimeter and the biological specimens. The vaults would have been low priority. It's feasible that the Winter Soldier could have stolen whatever he was after and gotten off base before anyone knew he was there."

"That's how an extraction is supposed to go," Natasha said in agreement. She glanced at Steve, who was listening while devouring the pile of food on his tray.

"Would he hold on to the stuff, or try to get rid of it as soon as he could?" John asked. He went for another carrot.

"I cannot know," Natasha said. "But you have to be prepared for the fact that the Winter Soldier's contact is already aware that he has been unsuccessful in his mission."

"And either gone to ground or figuring another plan of attack," John agreed. "Yeah, it had occurred to me. Just what we need, our gal vanishing from view."

"Do you really think that the Goa'uld is this Isis character?" Steve asked.

"No way of knowing at this point," John said. "Whoever we're up against is good enough to write a computer virus that surgically destroyed one of the most sophisticated security systems in the galaxy. If it's not Isis, it's someone who's going to be a major pain in the ass."

"Why do you do that?" Natasha asked.

"Do what?"

"Refer to your enemies in sarcastic terms?"

John rubbed his ear. "I dunno. Bad guys always want to be taken so seriously, and that just pisses me off."

"It makes you sound as if you aren't afraid of anything."

"Oh hell no, I'm afraid of most of the shit we go up against," John corrected. "Fear keeps you alive in this business. It's just that most of the bad guys in this galaxy are such goddamn drama queens. I'm not going to be afraid of something that walks around in a swoopy cape cackling about how evil it is."

"Sounds like fighting aliens is like our line of work," Steve said.

John smiled at that. "But you guys have cooler uniforms." He stood up. "I gotta get back to it. Captain, the airman will take you to the document room when we get that file on Sgt. Barnes."

"Thanks, Colonel."

John gave Natasha a smile and strode off. Natasha looked at Steve for a long moment. "I'm going to go sit with the Winter Soldier," she said.

"You do that," Steve said. His voice was cold and professional, with no hint of the camaraderie they'd been building between them since Loki came to Earth the previous year.

Whatever. Natasha didn't have energy to deal with Steve's emotional breakdown. She left.

* * *

"I brought you something."

The Winter Soldier didn't react to her voice. Natasha let the security guard close the door behind her before walking over to the cell.

The Winter Soldier sat on the bed, eyes focused on the camera concealed in the corner. His arms were crossed and his jaw was clenched.

Natasha watched him for long enough to reassure herself that he was just angry, not drugged, before placing the little dessert plate on the ground between the bars.

"You finished your dinner," she observed. The metal tray held plates and cutlery, neatly stacked and waiting by the cell bars. "I thought you might like some pie."

Silence.

Natasha rose from her crouch and went over to the wall, sitting down so she had a clear line of sight to both the Winter Soldier and the door. The concrete was hard against her back, but she had lived through worse.

The room was quiet with the hum of the overhead lights, the soft sound of the air circulating deep underground. Natasha let her aching muscles relax, the cold a welcome balm for the soreness. Watching the Winter Soldier ignore her was soothing in its own way.

Natasha told herself that there was nothing else she could be doing. Steve was running after his 'dead best friend' theory; John was collaborating with Area 51, and Jack O'Neill's people were dealing with the Isis aspect.

And considering Natasha had been suspended from SHIELD, she felt zero need to think about what Coulson would have asked her to do, if he'd still been around.

Gradually, lulled by the gently hum and the comforting presence of the Winter Soldier, no matter how angry he was with her, Natasha closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

A hiss brought Natasha awake. She opened her eyes just as the door swung open, and a sergeant poked his head in. "Agent Romanoff?" the man said.

Natasha looked at the Winter Soldier. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his hands, seemingly unaware of Natasha. But it had been he who made the noise that woke Natasha. In the meantime, the small dessert plate had been licked clean and placed on top of the other dishes in his cell.

Natasha rolled her head on her neck. Falling asleep in such an awkward position hadn't been her best idea of the day.  
  
"Colonel Sheppard needs you to come downstairs," the airman said.

Natasha stood, feeling stiff. "Did he say why?"

"He told me to tell you that General Mikhailov is here."

Fear stabbed through Natasha's heart as the Winter Soldier shot to his feet. He had gone dead white under his bruises. "Why is he here?" the Winter Soldier demanded in Russian. He gripped the bars of his cell with both hands.

"I don't know," Natasha said, unable to stop herself from going to him. She put her hand on the Winter Soldier's wrist as he twisted his hand under hers and held her tight. "I'll go find out."

"I'm not going with him," the Winter Soldier said. His expression never changed, but his eyes were burning. "I'll kill myself before I go anywhere with him!"

"I'm not going to let him take you out of here," Natasha said. She squeezed his hand. "I promise you."

"Ma'am," the sergeant said. "The Colonel suggested that time is of the essence."

With one last squeeze of the hand, Natasha left the Winter Soldier locked in his cage as she went to face the Devil.

* * *

In spite of her haste, Natasha didn't get to the briefing room in time. She and her military escort turned the corner just as John was showing the General out into the hallway.

Natasha's feet involuntarily slowed. General Ivan Mikhailov. They were the same age, he and she, but he was a broken old man now.

General Mikhailov had taken control of the Red Room program in the eighties, when the politics and intrigue behind the Cold War was at its most unstable. In his zeal to give the Soviets an edge over the Americans, he had taken the program to depths it should never have gone.

General Mikhailov had instigated several of the Winter Soldier's most deadly missions, had himself overseen the acceleration of the man's programming, until the Winter Soldier's mind had snapped under the strain.

Natasha had been sent to stop the Winter Soldier, and he had nearly killed her before she'd subdued him. But in the end she had saved him, helping him find his way back to himself over several weeks of hard and painful work.

And now General Mikhailov stood in the SGC, within shouting distance of the Winter Soldier. Natasha would not let the General anywhere near the Winter Soldier. Not while she lived.

John was smiling politely as the man spoke, glancing up as Natasha approached. General Mikhailov turned to Natasha, and his smile was full of malice.

He smiled at her like he still owned her.

Fighting the urge to stab him in the face, Natasha merely put her hands at her sides.

"The famous Black Widow," General Mikhailov said in Russian. "I heard a rumor that it was you who finally captured the war criminal who calls himself the Winter Soldier."

"I was acting in my official capacity," Natasha said coldly. "What are you doing here?"

"It could be said that I am doing the same," the man said. "Our treaty with Stargate Command means I am privy to their more…interesting developments."

"Is that so?"

"You sound so suspicious." The man's expression made Natasha want to throw up. "I thought it best to share our intelligence on the Winter Soldier, as a show of good faith."

Natasha knew in the pit of her stomach, the way General Mikhailov looked down at her, that he had given the SGC proof of everything that the Winter Soldier had ever done. He'd all but signed the Winter Soldier's execution order by what he had done, and he knew it.

"It's a pity that no one asked us for your file ten years ago," the General went on. "I could have saved everyone a lot of trouble."

Natasha looked at the man, grown old and bitter in the service of power-hungry men. She remembered all the other men who had come before him, moulding her, shaping her, thinking they controlled her.

She'd outlived those men. She'd outlive this one as well.

In street clothes, worn and scuffed from the day's fight at Area 51, the Black Widow tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled the smile that had brought regimes to their knees.

General Mikhailov paled. He tried to rally by clearing his throat and turning to John. "My apologies, Colonel," he said in English. "Just catching up with an old… friend."

The insinuation made Natasha sound like nothing more than a cheap whore, but John just nodded his head mildly. "Thanks for coming down, the Air Force appreciates the courtesy."

"As I mentioned before, the Russian military could take the war criminal off your hands," General Mikhailov said. "He is, unfortunately, our responsibility."

"No can do," John said blandly. "See, we caught him trying to break into a US Military post. We'll handle him ourselves."

"As you wish it." The General deigned to shake hands with John, gave Natasha one last covetous look, and followed his two-man military escort to the elevators.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, John let out a low growl. "I need to wash my hands," he said. "Come on, Mom."

Natasha let him show her into the briefing room. On the table lay two thick binders. Ordinary, really, except that the information they contained could end a man's life.

"Your friend was pretty insistent that the Winter Soldier is too dangerous to live," John said.

Natasha wasn't surprised. "That man isn't my friend," she said. The binders were tantalizingly close. She could open one and see what was inside, just like that.

She clenched her hand in a fist. The Winter Soldier was more than what was contained in those binders. She had to make John see that.

"Yeah, I got that much," John said. "Hope you don't mind that I didn't call you 'mom' back there."

Natasha shook her head. "I would not have him knowing who you are," she said vehemently. "I spent a lot of time and effort to keep your name out of the files. All of the men who would have known are dead."

"Except the Winter Soldier," John pointed out. "Would he tell anyone about me?"

"Never," Natasha said quickly. "I told you before, he knows what you mean to me."

"Yeah," John said. He tapped one of the binders. "General Mikhailov said the Winter Soldier was subject to a form of mental programming, sort of like brainwashing. That it made the Winter Soldier dangerously unstable, that he doesn't know right from wrong."

Natasha bit her lip to keep from swearing. "General Mikhailov is not an unbiased party in this," she said when she could speak calmly. "He is the one who did most of that to the Winter Soldier, none other."

John ran his hand over the binder for a moment, then he said, "Do you want to go get some air?"

"Where?"

"Top-side. Out of the mountain. Come on, it'll do us both good to take a breather."

Natasha didn't move. "Why?"

"Because I think that we need to talk before I read what's in that file. What do you think?"

Natasha took in her son's expression, the faded exhaustion in the way he held his body, the deep underlying anger he'd wrapped around him like a shield. She nodded. "I think some air would be a good thing."

John told the airman lingering in the hallway that no one except for Generals O'Neill or Landry were allowed in the briefing room until he got back, then he walked with Natasha to the elevator.

"Did you ever ask the Winter Soldier what his name was?" John asked as the elevator ascended.

"I did, when I was a child," Natasha said. "I didn't understand how someone could have no name." She watched the numbers tick over. "But names mean something. They took away my name and called me Natasha when I was very young."

"The Winter Soldier calls you Natalia, why was that?"

The elevator doors opened and they walked out into the corridor. "Natalia was the name I was born to," Natasha said quietly. "When Department X brought me in, they told me it wasn't appropriate and made everyone call me Natasha."

"The Winter Soldier doesn't."

Natasha waited until they had cleared security and walked out into the dark evening. "I asked him to call me Natalia, long ago," she said as they headed down the sidewalk. "He calls me that because I wanted him to."

"What does he ask you to call him?"

They stopped at a covered bench, a small ashtray filled with spent butts under the awning. Natasha sat down, holding her jacket tight around her in the chilly Colorado spring evening. "He said because he doesn't have a name, he didn't want me to make something up to call him. So I call him nothing."

"Yeah, but even if they won't let him use a name now, he had a name once."

"He doesn't remember," Natasha said. Her fingers ached for a cigarette, a drink, a knife. "He doesn't remember anything about who he was before Department X. They told him that he was in an accident, the one where he lost his arm. They said before the accident he was one of the Soviet's greatest soldiers."

John leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "If they knew that much, why didn't they just tell him his name?"

"Control," Natasha said. "What else?"

John ran his hand though his hair, making it stand on end. "Tell me about the brainwashing," he said, so tired.

Natasha took a moment to compose herself. "They called it 'programming'," she said quietly. "To give us skills and memories necessary to the mission."

There was a long silence. "They did this to you too?" John demanded.

Natasha looked up at the night sky. There was a hint of spring snow in the air. "It was necessary for the mission," she said. "It was faster and more efficient than spending time to learn the skills the usual way. That's what they told me, anyway."

John's hand covered hers, squeezing tight. Natasha closed her eyes against the sudden rush of emotion. She had never spoke of this to anyone, had tried to avoid thinking about it for years. But now…. Now, to save the Winter Soldier's life, she would tell her son.

"Sometimes, instead of putting memories in, they would take them out," Natasha went on. "Or at least hide them until they were as good as gone. They've done that with me. I know there are years they've taken away from me."

"Why would they do that?" John demanded. "What possible purpose could that serve?"

Natasha patted his hand. "Control," she said. "It's always been about control."

"Did they do that to the Winter Soldier? Take his past away?"

"I don't know," Natasha said. "I could never figure it out. When I first met the Winter Soldier in the training compound, it seemed like he was missing a piece of himself. He never talked about it."

"What kind of programming did they do to him?"

"Because he was in stasis so much, they didn't waste time on briefing him or training him out of stasis. They'd revive him on the programming table and point him at an enemy."

"Is that why General Mikhailov says he's unstable?"

Natasha shook her head. "General Mikhailov says the Winter Soldier is unstable because Mikhailov made him that way." She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice. "He took over the program and he started pushing the Winter Soldier's programming further and further, until they went too far. They broke his mind."

She pressed her hands against her face. Her headache was returning, but she couldn't stop, not now.

"What do you mean, they broke him?" John asked.

Natasha lowered her hands. "They took away everything of who he was," she said. "He wasn't a person anymore, he was a wounded animal."

He had killed four scientists with his bare hands in the time it had taken Natasha to run across the compound. They'd barricaded the door and someone was calling for a disposal team to burn the room to ash with the Winter Soldier inside.

Natasha slipped into the room unarmed, holding only a sedative patch. The place was destroyed, bodies lying broken on the floor.

She'd walked around the room, seeing no hint of the Winter Soldier. She'd come to the conclusion that he'd escaped somehow, when something crashed into her, picking her up and slamming her into the wall. It was the Winter Soldier, but it wasn't. His eyes were empty of the man she knew. He was covered in blood, most of it his own, and he held her tight.

 _I'm Natalia_ , she'd said to him. _Do you know me?_

He'd made a noise that sounded like a word as he took a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat.

 _Let me help you,_ she'd said, but she didn't think he understood.

He'd pressed his body against hers. He hesitated then.

 _Do you remember me now?_ She asked. Carefully, she pushed his hand down her side, the dip of her waist, to rest on her hip. He'd let go of her hair and ran his other hand down to her breast.

 _That's right,_ Natasha had said, lifting her arms to wrap him in an embrace. _I'm right here_.

He'd buried his face in her hair, making another frustrated not-word sound. She held him tight, stroking his back as she carefully placed the sedative patch on his neck.

In a few moments, he faltered and collapsed on her like an avalanche.

"When they tried to fix him, he didn't know anything or anybody," Natasha said to John, the memory of that room suffocatingly close over the space of nearly thirty years. "He had to relearn how to talk, to walk, everything. They told him he had a stroke. It took a while, but he started to remember things after a few weeks. One of the first things he remembered was me."

"Did he ever ask what happened?"

"He did." Natasha remembered that night well; he'd snuck into her room in the compound, crawled into her bed before she was properly awake. After she'd recovered from nearly snapping his neck, the Winter Soldier curled up against her under the blankets, clinging to her tight. "I told him it wasn't a stroke, but that I didn't know what they'd been trying to do to him."

He'd asked if he hurt her, and she'd stroked the back of his neck and kissed him and told him _no_ , not really a lie.

"After that, General Mikhailov couldn't get the doctors to try again. His superiors told him that they'd invested too much time and money into the Winter Soldier to let him be rendered useless by experimentation."

"How is he now?"

Natasha glanced at her son. "He's as stable and high-functioning as I've ever seen him," she said. "He can communicate in Russian and English and other languages, operate naturally in a crowd. He understands moral distinctions, humour, sarcasm."

"He broke into a US military base."

"And instead of killing two people, he took the time to secure them so they were no threat to him. It would have been quicker and safer to him to kill them and hide the bodies."

John blew out a breath through his teeth. "That had occurred to me," he admitted. He got to his feet and strolled around, head down, thinking.

Natasha tucked her hands into her pockets and hunched in on herself. The adrenaline from General Mikhailov's visit had worn off, her head ached, and she was so tired.

John came back over to the bench. "I'll take this under advisement," he said. "But… Jesus Christ, this was not how I expected to be spending tonight."

Natasha took his offered hand and stood. "Surfing, right?"

"Nah, I was just saying that," John said. "I thought I was going to be going over homeworld security stuff with General O'Neill in DC this week. Boring paperwork stuff." He yawned. "Not another all-nighter where we all might end up dead."

"You can wait until morning," Natasha said.

John shook his head. "Not with a potential Goa'uld out there. That's an all-hands-on-deck situation."

Natasha could understand that, more that John might imagine.

They went back through security into the base, where John handed Natasha over to an escort. "He'll take you to one of the guest rooms," John said. "Get some rest."

"I can find my own way," Natasha said.

John cracked a smile. "If I let you wander around this base by yourself, General O'Neill will demote me back to Corporal. See you tomorrow."

He left, and Natasha let the airman take her to the guestroom. Someone had thought to put her overnight bag on the bed. It had been searched, of course, but everything had been put back in place. Her shirts had even been folded nicer than before.

Natasha took one look at the room and paused only long enough to scoop the blanket off the bed before going back into the hall. "Take me to the detention wing," she said.

The airman hesitated. "Ma'am, I don't know—"

Natasha fixed him with a glare. "I will be far more secure in the detention cell than this room," she said. "After you."

The airman wilted, and off they went.

The security guard didn't seem surprised to see her again, and let her into the room after searching her armful. At her entrance, the Winter Soldier bounced to his feet. "Is he still here?" he demanded.

"Mikhailov is gone," Natasha told him. "He tried to convince John that you've gone feral and should be put down, but I think I talked John out of that."

The Winter Soldier let out a sigh of relief. "Did the General see you?"

"He did." Natasha shook out the blanket and laid it on the ground. "I forgot how much I hate that man."

"What are you doing?" the Winter Soldier asked, distracted.

"I am going to sleep," Natasha said. "You should too."

"Why here?"

"Because I will feel better knowing that you aren't trying to escape." And with that, she lay down, rolling into the blanket so it covered her.

"On the floor?"

"This is more comfortable than other nights I've had," Natasha pointed out. "Go to sleep."

The Winter Soldier made a sound of exasperation. "Impossible woman," he muttered. He picked up the pillow from his cot and shoved it through the bars. "At least take this."

She looked at him sideways for a moment before reaching for the pillow.

"Impossible," he muttered again.

Natasha put the pillow under her head and tried to make herself comfortable on the cement floor. It wasn't bad; she'd had far worse in her life, and the room wasn't too cold. In the dim lights, Natasha felt herself drawing close to sleep.

The Winter Soldier's voice roused her before she slipped into unconsciousness. "What happens now?"

Without opening her eyes, she said, "Colonel Sheppard will spend the night trying to decide if you're a war criminal or a victim. Captain Rogers is waiting for proof that you're really his long-dead best friend named Bucky. And I suppose your new dark-haired friend is using all the resources of the Stargate Command to scour the world for your unmemorable contact."

After a minute of silence, the Winter Soldier said, "Well, if that's all."

"Go to sleep, you idiot," Natasha mumbled.

She listened for a while, but all she heard was the Winter Soldier's breathing grow slow and even.

And then she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have encountered General Mikhailov before (very briefly); in [chapter 4 of Widow's Letters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/494108/chapters/868504).


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Natasha was woken the following morning by the distinctly unglamorous sound of the Winter Soldier taking a piss in the detention cell toilet.

She sat up, body stiff from her night on the floor. Blinking, she asked, "What time is it?"

The Winter Soldier flushed the toilet and tucked himself back into the white standard-issue pants before answering, "No idea, but there's movement outside. What time does the day shift start?"

Natasha didn't know, so she just stood and stretched out the worst of the stiffness while the Winter Soldier washed his hands in the sink.

"Think I can talk them into letting me take a shower?" he asked, slicking his long hair back with wet hands. "Maybe a nice dunking before they start the water boarding?"

"Making jokes about torture already; you must have had a good night's sleep," Natasha observed.

"Enough to stay ready."

The door opened, and two men came into the room. They were not the security staff from the night before. "Good morning," said the younger of the men, a lieutenant. He slid a stack of folded black cloth into the small opening in the cell door. "A change of clothes," he said. "Your boots are outside, you can get them in a few minutes." He turned to Natasha and handed her a note. "Ma'am."

_Hey mom. I'm calling a meeting with the usual suspects for 0800, which should give you about an hour to eat and do the stuff. That nice guest suite you avoided last night has a shower. Don't worry about your buddy, he's going to the meeting too._

_See you soon._

This was followed by a smiley face, and a scrawled _JS_.

Natasha handed the note through the bars to the Winter Soldier. "Can someone escort me to my room?" Natasha asked.

"Of course, ma'am." The lieutenant nodded as a third marine entered the room, this one a sergeant. She was carrying a tray of food. "You can go with the sergeant."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at the contents of the tray. The eggs and hash browns were accompanied by several slices of bacon and toast. The orange slice on the side of the tray looked more like garnish than food.

"What, no coffee?" the Winter Soldier asked.

"Maybe they plan to fatten you so you won't be able to escape," Natasha suggested.

"Or they'll kill me slowly by giving me a heart attack," the Winter Soldier retorted, and no, that was wrong, he normally only teased her back when they were alone.

Natasha swallowed her misgivings and followed the sergeant out of the detention cell, past the watchful guard by the door.

The sergeant was not talkative and they made good time to the guest room. In the doorway, Natasha turned to the other woman.

"Are you going to wait in the hallway?" she asked.

The young woman's face was impassive. "Yes."

Not, Natasha noted with amusement, _yes ma'am._ "I don't suppose I can convince you to go get me a cup of coffee?"

The sergeant looked affronted that Natasha would even ask such a thing. "That's not possible."

Natasha sighed. It was worth a shot.

* * *

Even hurrying, the Black Widow beauty regimen took time. Natasha washed her hair with military shampoo, soaped her body with military soap, and dried off with rough military towels. She brushed out her hair and twisted it into a long braid; it would never dry in time for the meeting and this kept it out of the way in case of incident.

She didn't want to spend the time focusing on her physical appearance, but it was necessary for a woman like her to walk into a room full of men, especially ones who knew her so well. Applying make-up so it looked like she wasn't wearing any was an art form, and laborious. Her skin was clear and smooth, so she didn't have to bother with powder. She also skipped the blush; with the florescent lights, any colour on her cheeks would be noticeable.

Natasha spent her time applying eyeliner (not too dark, just enough to make her eyes stand out in her face) and a smudge of subtle eye shadow in the creases of her eyelids for emphasis. Mascara was needed, as her natural lash colour was a shade too light for the effect she was going for under the florescent lights. Lastly, she skipped the lipstick she'd packed, and went with a light coating of lip balm instead.

Natasha considered her reflection. The pallor of her skin made her appear wan. The emphasis on her eyes helped with the illusion of fragility. The effect was subtle and close enough to what she was going for. Each of the men in the room would look at her and think they understood her; Steve, Jack O'Neil, even her son.

They wouldn't understand that it was armour, the way she wore it. The Black Widow's deadliest weapon was her façade of fragile femininity, and she had spent decades sharpening these blades.

So much the better. The battle for the Winter Soldier's life was still on, whether anyone would admit it or not.

Natasha quickly stepped into the change of clothes in her overnight bag, and presented herself to the sergeant in the hallway. They got to the small meeting room only a minute after the turn of the hour.

The room held John and Steve; the latter's black eye was nearly healed, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "Good morning, _lapushka_ ," Natasha said, stopping beside John to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled at her before going back to his files. Natasha went around the table to Steve's side. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Steve sat back in his chair and looked at Natasha with an expression she couldn't identify. "I'm fine," he said after a pause.

He was not fine, but Natasha couldn't tell if his antagonism was directed at her, or another source. "Are you sure about that?" she asked, letting a hint of sarcasm seep into her voice.

Steve frowned. "What about you?" he demanded. "Did you have a good sleep in the detention cell?"

"I was concerned that the Winter Soldier would get it into his head to escape," Natasha said. "Spending the night in his cell was the best option for everyone, and I say that as someone who knows his motivations and tactics."

Steve's smile twisted up. "Bucky always did have the girls hanging all over him."

Natasha wasn't sure what was more infuriating; that Steve was still on his dead-best-friend kick, or that after all this time he thought she would fall over onto her back for a handsome man.

She turned her back on Steve and went over to the side of the room that held the coffee carafe. When she'd had sufficient time to drink her coffee and for her fury at Steve to lessen, she went over to John. "Where is General O'Neill?"

"He's got other stuff to do," John said. "The universe keeps spinning, even with everything that's happening here. I'll be leading today's discussions.

Natasha was about to ask what John had spent the night doing, if he had read the files from General Mikhailov, when a knock sounded on the door and two armed security guards brought in the Winter Soldier.

The man looked better than he had the previous day. The black clothing suited him better than the white scrubs, and the too-large shirt he wore fit over his metal arm.

The Winter Soldier went to the empty chair at Natasha's side and sat, holding up his handcuffed wrists. "Can we skip this part?" he asked John.

"Don't see why not," John said agreeably. "Sergeant?"

The sergeant unlocked the handcuffs and, with a nod at John, left with the other guard.

The Winter Soldier looked at Natasha. "This is cheerful. Now what?"

John slid a tablet across the table to the Winter Soldier. "Put your right hand on the screen," he said.

The Winter Soldier raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Humour me."

"This is stupid," the Winter Soldier grumbled, but he obliged.

A blue light illuminated the tablet for a moment, then a screen on the wall lit up. A scan of the hand showed on the left of the display. As they watched, the fingerprints on the hand were isolated. Red letters flashed _Match Found_ , while on the right side of the screen an old black and white photograph appeared, showing a man in an American World War II uniform.

The man in the photograph was the Winter Soldier. Beneath the photograph, a name was attached to the record: BARNES, James Buchanan (Sgt.).

"Looks like we've got something to call you after all," John said.

Natasha stared at the screen. "What is this?" she demanded.

"We got the files unsealed last night and ran a partial print from Area 51 against the records," John said. He leaned back in his chair. "This confirms it, there's no mistake, this is Sgt. James Barnes."

Natasha turned to Steve. The man was looking at the Winter Soldier with undisguised hope in his eyes. "Do you have anything you want to say at this point?" John asked the Winter Soldier.

The man shrugged. "Nope."

"Bucky, come on!" Steve exclaimed. "What—"

"Don't call me that!" the Winter Soldier shouted, slapping his hands on the table as he pushed himself to his feet, his sudden anger charging the room. Natasha found herself on her feet, not sure if she wanted to run toward or away from the man. "Just because you can fake some papers with my pictures doesn't mean anything!"

"They didn't fake anything!" Steve yelled. "This is you! You're James Buchanan Barnes, from Brooklyn—"

"Make him stop, Natalia," the Winter Soldier said in furious Russian. "Get him to stop!"

"Steve," Natasha said, putting her hand on his arm. She hung on when he tried to shake her off. "Stop for a moment, okay? Please?"

Steve didn't respond at once, staring at the Winter Soldier. Natasha squeezed his arm, and he gave one sharp nod.

Natasha then turned to the Winter Soldier. He was still glaring daggers at Steve. "Why don't you sit down," she said in a soft voice. "It's okay."

It took a few not-so-subtle nudges, but the Winter Soldier finally sat in the chair. Natasha left her hand on his shoulder, not sure if she was restraining or reassuring.

The Winter Soldier put his elbows on the table. "It doesn't matter who you think I am," he said after a minute.

"How can you say that?" Steve demanded, his voice cracking. "I thought you died—"

"So what? What does that change?" the Winter Soldier demanded.

Steve visibly swallowed his reaction. He clenched his hands on the tabletop. "Natasha said you don't remember your past," he said, trying to be calm. "But that doesn't mean it didn't happen."

At these words, the Winter Soldier froze under Natasha's hand. He pulled away, glaring up at her, cold anger in his eyes. "Is that what Natasha told you," he said mockingly.

"She told me," John interjected. "And she told me because she's trying to save your life, so shut up and listen, okay?"

Natasha went around the table to sit beside Steve. From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the Winter Soldier and could better intercept him if he tried to attack or escape.

"Right now, it doesn't matter to me what the hell your name is or when you were born," John went on. He typed something on his tablet, and the display changed to show the Goa'uld artifacts stolen in the previous months. "Let's talk about Isis."

"What's that?" the Winter Soldier asked as he slouched down in his chair.

"Vala Mal Doran mentioned the Goa'uld when she went to see you yesterday, didn't she?"

"Who?"

"Black hair. Chocolate bar."

"Ah," said the Winter Soldier with a smile. "Her. Yeah, she mentioned something about aliens."

"That's them," John agreed. "The current theory is that the guy who gave you that ridiculous name," and John typed the name onto the screen, "Is either Isis or a Goa'uld using Isis' name."

"Why?"

"Fear. Street cred. Who knows?" John enlarged the photos of the stone tablets with the Goa'uld writing. "But these have information pertaining to Isis, and that stuff you were trying to steal yesterday? Related to Isis."

"Look, yesterday was just a job for hire," the Winter Soldier said. "That's all. Break in, steal some stuff, and deliver it to my contact. I get paid, and then I vanish. The end."

"Glad to see that worked out so well for you," John said sarcastically. "Where were you supposed to drop it off?"

"A shooting range in Las Vegas. Put it in a storage locker outside the range, go do some target practice. When I was done, I'd go back to the locker and the stuff would be gone and my money would be there."

"When was the drop scheduled?"

"Yesterday night," the Winter Soldier said. He snapped his fingers. "Sorry, that must have slipped my mind. I should have mentioned that."

John sat back in his chair, considering. "You did all this for the money?" he asked. "A man who spent nearly seventy years killing for his country sudden gets greedy?"

The Winter Soldier refused to rise to the bait. "I was following orders back then," he said. "Something you may know a little about. And I don't have a country anymore, so leave patriotism out of this."

"What about Russia?"

The Winter Soldier's upper lip curled in disgust. "A capitalistic cesspool controlled by the oil mafia and the military," he snapped. "It's everything we spent decades fighting against. Tell me why I should care about Russia now, will you?"

"So you're a free agent?"

"An independent operative," Natasha said, seeing the confusion on both Steve and the Winter Soldier's faces. "Not beholden to anyone."

"Something like that," the Winter Soldier said.

"What about the Goa'uld technology you stole?"

"I've stolen nothing."

"Not even the Goa'uld hand device you had in that apartment in Brooklyn?" John pulled up the photo of the hand device.

"I've never laid eyes on that before in my life," said the Winter Soldier.

"One was seen in your possession."

The Winter Soldier's eyes grew sharp. "And did you see this thing in my possession yourself, Colonel?"

John clenched his jaw, the first sign he was getting impatient. "Can we skip the word games?" he demanded.

The Winter Soldier ignored him. "Did your mother tell you this?" he asked. "Because Natalia Romanova lies to everyone." The Winter Soldier leaned forward. "Even you, Sheppard."

John smiled. It was not a nice expression. "I'd be careful about calling Agent Romanoff a liar, considering how much trouble she's been going through for you." The smile sharpened. "In fact, she's the only thing standing between you and a charge of treason, _Sgt._ Barnes."

The Winter Soldier glared at John, but was silent.

"Now," John said as his expression eased. "Let's talk about your friend Isis for a little while. I—"

John was interrupted as the door opening without warning. Natasha tensed, ready for an attack, but the only person to enter was Dr. Rodney McKay.

"Rodney!" John said, annoyed. "I'm in the middle of something!"

"Is it about the hack job into Area 51?" Dr. McKay asked. His short-cropped hair was standing on end in several directions, and he looked exhausted. "Because it is so, so much worse than we thought."

"How bad?" John asked, getting to his feet.

"Very bad." The man seemed to see Natasha for the first time. "Wait, isn't that your inappropriately young mother?"

"Come on," John interrupted, hauling Dr. McKay out into the hallway. "Everyone, just stay here," he directed as the door closed behind him.

The tension hung heavy in the room for a few moments. Then the Winter Soldier shook his head. "This is such a farce," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" Steve demanded.

"Bringing in that man as an 'accidental' interruption," the Winter Soldier said. "Then they conveniently go out into the hallway. What is your line in the script?"

"This isn't a script," Natasha said. She stood up and went to the water cooler. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger, but she pushed the sensation away as unimportant.

"Do you think this is a game, Bucky?" Steve demanded. "What are you thinking?"

"I told you to stop calling me that!" the Winter Soldier growled. "Natalia, tell him."

"Tell him what?" Natasha asked, standing against the wall, out of the line of the argument.

"About me—"

"What good would that do?" she asked. "All I do is lie, remember?"

"Bucky—"

"If you call me that again, I'm going to break your face," the Winter Soldier spat.

"Fine," Steve retorted. " _James._ "

The Winter Soldier flung himself back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Natalia, tell him to be quiet," he pleaded in Russian.

Natasha filled another cup with water and put it on the table in front of the Winter Soldier. "If you lose control of your temper and beat Captain America to death," she replied in kind, "It will just prove General Mikhailov's point that you're nothing more than an animal." She touched his shoulder as she went back to her chair. "Steve, can you please not call him anything?" she asked in English. "You can tell it's upsetting him."

"Upsetting him?" Steve repeated, rising half an octave on the question. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Imagine you woke up one day and had no memory of who you were," Natasha said. The Winter Soldier went still with tension, but she pretended that she didn't see his reaction. "You build a life for yourself and all of a sudden someone comes up and starts calling you a name you don't recognize. Do you just smile and go along with it?"

Steve looked at the tablet lying on the table. "I might if they had a war record with my face on it," he said.

"Asshole," the Winter Soldier muttered in Russian.

Natasha silently agreed. "Steve, please."

Steve stared at the Winter Soldier with sad eyes. "Fine," he said eventually. "I'll try."

"Thank you."

"It's just…" Steve rubbed his hand over his face. "All those things they said the Winter Soldier did… did you…"

The Winter Soldier met Steve's eyes. "Who are 'they' and what did they say I did?"

"It doesn't matter who they are," Steve said. "But bad things. A lot of them."

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "Morality so often depends on which side of the line you're standing."

"That's bullshit!" Steve exclaimed.

"You want to know what I've done?" the Winter Soldier demanded. "Read the file that General Mikhailov brought for Sheppard last night. See what the Department says I've done." He smiled, teeth bared. "I'll bet that will change your tune."

The door opened, and John came back in with McKay. "Are we playing nice?" John asked as he retook his seat. "Rodney, sit."

The man edged around the table until he was as far away as possible from the Winter Soldier. "So, um, Sgt. Barnes," McKay asked nervously. "What was that virus on the USB drive you shoved into the access point in Area 51 supposed to do?"

The Winter Soldier gritted his teeth at the name, but he didn't let himself get distracted. "I was told that if I plugged it in to any of the computer access points in the vault, it would fry the power and override any lockdown protocols to let me get out undetected."

"And you actually believed that?"

For the first time, the Winter Soldier looked uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"What you plugged into the Area 51 computers wasn't designed to just turn the power off," McKay said witheringly. "It introduced a virus into the system that copied and broadcast the entire Area 51 database to an unknown location. Someone somewhere has every piece of information the SGC has ever collected, every confidential mission report, every weapon schematic, everything!"

The Winter Soldier's expression went blank, which told Natasha how surprised he was.

"This person can read all of your files?" Natasha asked

"Well, not yet," McKay admitted grudgingly. "The files are encrypted, but this guy has the files and unlimited time to crack the encryption code."

"So we have time to find the person and retrieve the files," Natasha said.

"No, we don't!" McKay exclaimed. "I said _maybe_ we have time. If the data's been breached, someone could already be in!"

"What you did in infiltrating Area 51 gave this guy the access he needed to get our files," John said quietly. "This wasn't about technology at all. Looks like you got played, Sgt. Barnes."

"How did the person who wrote the code know what he was doing?" Natasha asked. "Wouldn't someone need inside knowledge of your computer systems?"

John looked at McKay. "Yes," said McKay reluctantly. "But the virus is classic Goa'uld."

"That narrows the list down, doesn't it?" Steve asked.

Rather than cheer John, the question only made him look more glum. "Anyone who worked on building the starships, or had access to the computer systems in Area 51, could have done it."

"It's still better than nothing," Natasha pointed out.

Steve leaned forward. "If it was a Goa'uld, Isis or not, what could they do with the database?"

"It's more like what couldn't she do," John said. "Everything is in there. Our defence plans, personnel rosters, weapons schematics…" John rubbed his eyes. "All right. Look, unless you can give me anything else on your contact, Sgt. Barnes, I have to go deal with this mess."

"I met him in Munich once, then in Boston later on," the Winter Soldier said, subdued. "That's all."

"How did he find you?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "He came up to me in a bar. Said he knew who I was, that he had a job for me if I wanted it."

"You said yes?"

"Hell no, I told him to fuck off. I thought he was trying to pick me up."

"Then what?"

"He left. The next day, I turned around in the street and he's just waiting for me. I figured, why the hell not? I didn't exactly have easy access to money."

"How much did you sell us out for?" McKay demanded.

"I didn't!" the Winter Soldier exclaimed. "I thought he was some rich collector, why else would he want me to steal all these old artifacts? If I'd known he was after your database—"

"You'd have asked for more money?" John interrupted sarcastically.

The Winter Soldier flushed. "I'd have figured out why he wanted it before I did anything about it."

"That's mighty big of you." John stood up. "I want our medical team to take a look at you."

"No."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I was the one who got to give the orders here," John snapped. "You're in my custody and that means you get looked at by our doctors to ensure you're being treated up to standards."

"I'm going with him." Steve said, standing.

John sighed. "I don't care at this point. Rodney, come on."

McKay followed John out of the room, glaring balefully at the Winter Soldier on his way.

The guard stepped into the doorway. "If you'll come with me," he said. "Dr. Lam will see you now."

* * *

The doctor parked Steve and Natasha in the office while she examined the Winter Soldier. Before that, while she was setting up, Natasha pulled the Winter Soldier aside and whispered in his ear, "She's General Landry's daughter."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Try anything at all and the guards will shoot you quickly."

He gave her a strange look. "What would I try?"

She wasn't swayed by that expression. "Please."

Then the doctor was back and they'd been separated. Now, Natasha and Steve watched as the Winter Soldier stripped off his shirt for the medical team. "He's got a lot of scars," Steve said, subdued.

"He's lived a rough life."

"Yeah, but…" Steve trailed off. "There's rough and there's _rough._ "

"He's not like us, Steve. He doesn't heal like we do."

"I know that."

The Winter Soldier turned around, showing the doctor his side, which gave Steve and Natasha a clear view of his back.

"See that scar just above his kidney?" Steve asked, pointing. "We went out to Coney Island when we were kids. Bucky got into a dust-up with some kids from Queens and he got caught on a nail in the wall. The nuns thought for sure he'd die of blood poisoning, but he was fine. Bucky never got sick, not like me."

Natasha watched as the Winter Soldier flexed his metal arm for the doctor, the intricate coordination of his muscles in his back perfectly balanced.

That scar on the Winter Soldier's back had been decades old when she'd first seen it.

"Does he always stand like that?" Steve asked with a frown.

"Like what?"

"He's leaning slightly to the side."

"The arm is metal, Steve. He stands like that so he doesn't overbalance."

"You seem to know a lot about him."

"I've known him a long time."

Steve let out a breath. "What the hell am I going to do?"

Natasha watched as the Winter Soldier demonstrated the use of his metal hand. "Don't read the file," she said. "If you really think he is your friend, don't do it."

"What do you mean, think?" Steve repeated. "He's Bucky! Even if he doesn't remember, I do!"

Steve's outburst had drawn attention from the medical bay, and the Winter Soldier was staring at Steve with narrowed eyes.

Natasha shook her head firmly at the Winter Soldier, and only then did the man turn his attention back to Dr. Lam.

"What was that?" Steve asked.

"He doesn't like it when people yell at me," Natasha said. "It's really quite unnecessary, but he does it all the same."

It was strange, how easily Natasha had slipped into speaking of the Winter Soldier as alive. Dead for thirteen years, alive for her for only a few days, and it was like those thirteen years became less important.

"It's funny, you know," Steve said after a few minutes. "When I first met you, when we were dealing with the aftermath of the Battle in New York, just trying to find our way as a team, I always thought that Bucky would have been really taken with you."

Natasha watched the Winter Soldier lie down on an examination table. Dr. Lam held the scanning device over his torso. The Winter Soldier's eyes followed the doctor's every move.

"You're beautiful and strong and so smart," Steve went on. "Bucky adored women like that."

"I met the Winter Soldier when I was a child," Natasha said abruptly. "None of that had any bearing."

"Why do you still call him that?" Steve asked. "He has a name—"

"I will not call him by that name unless he wants me to," Natasha cut Steve off.

"It's his _name_ , even if he doesn't remember it."

Natasha pressed her lips together. Steve couldn't understand what names meant to them. She was known by many names to many people: the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, Natalia. The Winter Soldier refused to be known by anything but his designation. Natasha would not disregard his wishes now.

"Damnit, why doesn't he remember?"

Natasha patted Steve's knee. "Stop asking for miracles. Sometimes we only get half of what we want."

"This is stupid," Steve muttered, standing up and pacing the length of the office. "Why are we just waiting around?"

"Do you have another idea?" Natasha watched closely as a nurse drew several vials of blood from a vein in the Winter Soldier's right arm.

"We should be doing something to track down the guy Bucky met with! Something to get that file back."

Natasha turned to Steve, eyebrow raised. "How?"

"I don't know!" Steve stopped pacing. "Something."

"This isn't our kind of fight."

"So we get Tony and Bruce—"

"You want to ask the US military to let Tony Stark poke around for a copy of the entire Stargate program database? They wouldn't even let Stark Industries bid on the new spaceship construction program."

"Do you have anyone more qualified in mind?" Steve asked. "Tony's… Tony. But he gets what's at stake here."

"I know," Natasha said. "Honestly, if Tony can help, John will swallow his pride and ask."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "Those two seem to have a bit of a grudge match going on."

"You saw how they were the other day," Natasha said, dismissing his concerns. "They may never kiss and make up, but they have an understanding."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"John and Tony used to be involved." Steve still looked confused. "Dating."

"But…" Steve frowned harder. "How?"

"You were on the front during the war," Natasha said. "I thought you'd at least be aware of the mechanics of the thing."

"That's not what I meant," Steve said, his cheeks going pink. "I mean, well, Tony's with Pepper…"

"Pepper is the only person who can put up with being in a relationship Tony for more than four days in a row," Natasha said. "Tony's never let himself be restricted by labels." She looked closely at Steve. "Are you going to be okay with this? I know things were different when you were in the Army."

"I'm fine," Steve said quickly. "I knew guys who were like that back in my day, just…. Well, the world wasn't real fond of people like that." He cleared his throat. "Is that why Bucky made that crack last night when Sheppard was making him strip down?"

"I have no idea what he meant by that," Natasha said. The idea of her son checking out the Winter Soldier revolted her for reasons Steve would never understand. "The Winter Soldier has been acting strangely."

"How so?"

On the other side of the glass, the Winter Soldier was pulling his shirt back on.

"Before, when he was in mixed company, he was cold. Formal. He could never have conducted himself as he did this morning."

"Have you ever seen him act like this before?"

"No."

And it worried her.

* * *

Lunch was grim.

They are in the morning's small meeting room, just the three of them. Steve tried to keep the conversation up, but he couldn't help from straying to stories of his childhood with Bucky.

The Winter Soldier spent the meal eating steadily, ignoring Steve as much as possible. Natasha responded to Steve, but most of her attention was on the Winter Soldier.

Eventually, even Steve had nothing left to say, and silence lay heavy in the room.

The Winter Soldier finished eating and set his fork down on the tray. "Do you want my apple?" Natasha asked, offering it to him. He took it without comment and took a big bite.

In the meantime, Steve pushed away his tray, meal half eaten. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

The Winter Soldier took another angry bite from the apple. He didn't respond.

"It's been two years, for me," Steve went on. "And you know what? I don't care if you do punch me out, I'm going to talk about this."

The Winter Soldier rotated the apple and bit down again.

"You told me to read the files, but I won't." Steve's jaw jutted out in defiance. "I want you tell me."

The Winter Soldier swallowed his mouthful and laid the apple core on the tray. "Tell you what I've been since when?"

"Whenever you remember," Steve said gamely.

The Winter Soldier was silent for a moment. "You've been to war, you know what it's like."

"Yeah, but what about the other times?" Steve pressed. "When you had downtime, or on leave."

Natasha and the Winter Soldier looked at Steve, then at each other. "I thought you'd have told him about stasis," the Winter Soldier said in Russian.

"I did," Natasha replied. "But maybe he didn't understand. Steve," she said, switching to English, "The Winter Soldier was in cryostasis between missions."

"You told us that, but—"

"I didn't have downtime," the Winter Soldier interrupted. "I was either on assignment or on ice."

Steve frowned. "Never?"

The Winter Soldier picked up his water glass and took a drink. "They didn't want to waste me on recovery time. At least, that's what they said." He raised the glass in a mock toast. "To ten years."

"Ten…" Steve looked stricken. "You've been fighting straight for ten years?" He looked at Natasha. She recognized the growing anger in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would have been the point?" Natasha asked. "We cannot change any of it."

"Is that your answer to everything?" Steve demanded hotly. "I tell you that your sketch looks like my friend, and you ignore the fact that the man you're talking about doesn't have a past or a name? When I _see_ him, a man I've known for almost my entire life, you still try to shut me down?"

If Natasha had to be honest, she expected that Steve's anger would come around to her at some point. But she'd rather hoped that it would manifest when they were alone, and not when she would need to manage the Winter Soldier as well as an angry Steve Rogers.

Speaking of the man, the Winter Soldier's attention was fixed and hard as Steve, oblivious, directed angry words at her. Natasha knew that look on the Winter Soldier; violence usually followed.

Then again, maybe a fight would clear the air.

"Stand up," Natasha told Steve.

"What?" he demanded.

"You heard me," she said, rising to her feet. "Get up."

Warily, Steve stood.

Natasha rounded the table so she was within arms' reach of Steve. She held her hands loose at her sides. "Hit me."

"What?" Steve demanded, stepping backwards.

At the table, the Winter Soldier leaned back in his chair, the tension draining from him as he watched.

"Come on," Natasha said, centering her weight on the balls of her feet. "You're angry at me. Hit me."

"He's not going to hit you," the Winter Soldier said.

"I'm not!" said Steve indignantly.

"You're angry at me," Natasha said. "Get it out of your system. Come on."

Steve went back to his chair and sat down. "No."

Natasha dropped the defensive stance. "Then can we focus on the problem at hand? There's a Goa'uld out there with information that the Winter Soldier inadvertently helped him get. What are we going to do to mitigate the damage?"

A moment of silence, then Steve said, "I still think that Tony can help us in finding the database."

"What do you think?" Natasha asked the Winter Soldier.

The man looked at the ceiling. Natasha knew him well enough to know he was thinking ahead, planning attacks and counterattacks. "Send me after this guy. I'll stop him."

"Even if that wasn't a suicide mission, you forget that the US military has you in custody and they're unlikely to let you out just because you ask nicely," Natasha said.

"It isn't a suicide mission—"

"Do you really think your contact was going to let you live after the drop-off?" Natasha demanded. "If you had actually gotten out of the vault and off the base, you'd have been the only connection between him and the database. You would have walked right in to your own execution."

The Winter Soldier glared at her. "Then I have even more motive to find this guy, don't I?"

The door opened, and John and McKay came back in. John looked grimly satisfied.

"Good news?" Natasha asked.

"It's not good, but it's better than bad," McKay said. "It looked like the virus downloaded a complete copy of the database at Area 51."

"How is that not bad news?" Steve asked.

"Because the download was complete," McKay said. "The way the system is set up, the SGC and Area 51 databases call between each other on a second-by-second basis for backup purposes. This goes on until there's a lockdown, in which case the systems switch to operate independently."

As he spoke, he carelessly put down his laptop and one of the Ancient life signs detector devices onto the table, within reach of the Winter Soldier.

"So what?" the Winter Soldier asked, glancing at the laptop.

"So," McKay said with a quelling glare, "When you broke into the system and killed the power, there was no lockdown triggered."

"We're hoping that when the guy opens the copy of the database to check it out, it'll reconnect with the SGC," John said.

"Exactly," McKay said, picking up the thread. "We're building an enclosed sandbox to hold a copy of the SGC database for the copied database to connect to, instead of the live one. It'll look like the real thing, but it should allow us to be connected long enough to track his location without risking any additional classified information."

"That's a good idea," Steve said cautiously. John just smiled.

"It'll be one hell of a plan if we can pull it off," he said. "Rodney said it will be ready in a few hours."

"All we have to do is hope this guy is a late sleeper," the Winter Soldier said as he reached for the laptop.

No, not the laptop; the alien device on top of it.

"What are you doing?" McKay demanded when he noticed the Winter Soldier's intent. "Stop it!"

The Winter Soldier picked up the device and turned it over in his hand. "Is this new American military tech?" he asked with interest. He completely ignored McKay's outburst.

"Isn't he a prisoner?" McKay demanded of John. "Why are you letting a prisoner run amuck like this?"

"He's not running anywhere," John said. "I've got guards on him at all times—"

John stopped abruptly as a three-dimensional display appeared in the air over the device in the Winter Soldier's hand. At least three floors were displayed, with tiny blinking dots moving around in real-time.

"That's one of those life-signs detectors, isn't it?" Natasha asked John. "I didn't know it could project like that."

"How did you do that?" McKay demanded. He turned to John. "Did you know it could do that?"

John was staring at the Winter Soldier, expressionless. "Hand it over," he said after a moment.

The Winter Soldier looked up from the device, blinking at John as if he hadn't heard.

John held out his hand. "Now."

With visible reluctance, the Winter Soldier put the device into John's outstretched palm. "Where did you get that?" he asked, rubbing his hand on his pant-leg. "There's something wrong with the casing, it tingles. The wiring must be cracked."

John tapped the side of the device. "It's fine," he said, the excitement from the previous conversation gone from his voice. "We need to get going, McKay."

McKay had opened his mouth to speak, but John had already gathered up the laptop and pushed the Canadian out into the hallway. John's next step put him beside Natasha, and he pulled her with him into the hall.

"What is it?" Natasha asked, stepping away from John.

He looked at her with cold green eyes. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

"No," Natasha said, uneasy at this change in her son.

"Is there anything that I need to know?"

"John, what's wrong?"

He glanced down the hallway, at the security guards on either side of the meeting room door. "Nothing. Look, Barton called a little while ago; he said you should call him."

"Fine," Natasha smoothed a wrinkle out of her sleeve from where John had grabbed her. "I don't think it's a good idea for Steve and the Winter Soldier to remain in the same room right now."

"Yeah, same," John muttered. "I'll see if I can get anyone to entertain Rogers for a few hours while we get the trace started."

"What happens after you start the trace?"

"Then I get to interrogate a notorious Soviet assassin," John said. "Fun."

Natasha didn't let her reaction show on her face. "Why you?" she asked. "Doesn't the Air Force have specialists for that?"

"This is apparently what General O'Neill meant by 'independent projects'," John said. He went back to the door, saying something to the guards on his way. "Captain," John called into the room. In a moment, Steve came out into the hallway. "How would you feel about a back-stage tour of Stargate Command?"

Without hesitation, Steve said, "Thanks, but I'll stay here."

John shook his head. "I need Sgt. Barnes to have some alone time. Just for a few hours."

Steve hesitated.

"He will be all right," Natasha said in a low voice. "I need to call Clint."

Steve straightened his substantial shoulders. "Fine," he said after a minute. "I'll talk to Bucky later."

The implied threat and promise was there, that he fully expected the Winter Soldier to be in the same state of health later on. It was rather sweet, in a violent sort of way.

"Fine," John said as a familiar black-haired woman came speeding down the hallway. "Vala, can you do me a favour and show Captain Rogers around the base?"

Vala frowned at Steve, looking him over, considering. "It depends."

"On?" John demanded.

"Is he a real Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said. "I am indeed."

Vala considered this for a moment. "It'll do," she said. "Come on, soldier, you're with me."

With one last glance at the room that held the Winter Soldier, Steve trailed along at Vala's side, down the hall and out of sight.

As soon as he as gone, Natasha slipped back into the room. The Winter Soldier was leaning back in his chair, exhibiting all the usual signs of boredom.

It was never a good thing when the Winter Soldier was bored.

"I have to go make a phone call," Natasha told him in Russian, while John stood in the doorway.

"So Captain America gets the run of the base now?" the Winter Soldier said, also in Russian. "Careful, I hear he tends to dramatically punch things when he doesn't get his way."

"Stop being a child," Natasha ordered. "I will be back later, don't do anything stupid. These guards will shoot you if you do."

"What's a little more metal in me?" said the Winter Soldier, lifting his arm.

"Please. For me."

He smiled at her. "Anything for you, little spider." He turned his gaze to John. "Sheppard, can I get a book to read?" He still spoke Russian, his tone a sarcastic dig.

John didn't rise to the bait. "I'll get someone to send up some books on the old Egyptian gods," John said in his American-accented Russian. "You can make yourself useful on researching Isis."

He held the door for Natasha. When she was at John's side, John spoke again, this time in English.

"If you do something stupid like go for the guards, they're authorized to use lethal force to defend themselves.

The Winter Soldier narrowed his eyes at the man. "How will you justify my death to your superiors?" he asked.

John shrugged. "I know those guys out there. I'm not going to risk a single person on this base for you. That's not how we do things here, and if you test that theory, you will bleed out on this floor." He pushed Natasha through the door.

The Winter Soldier started laughing. "I was beginning to wonder if you had any balls on you, Sheppard!" His voice followed them out into the hallway.

"Was that necessary?" Natasha demanded as they walked down the hall.

"You mean the reminder that he's under guard? Probably not," John said. They went up a flight of stairs. "But I wanted to be clear with him on where he stands."

"You would let your guards kill him?"

John stopped suddenly. "If he attacks them? If it's him or them?" John demanded. "Some people say the Winter Soldier has killed more people than anyone in Cold War history, and you're asking me that? I will never risk the life of any person down here, especially not if someone like Barnes tries something!"

Natasha held out her hands. "That wasn't what I meant," she said soothingly, stepping close to John. When he didn't pull away, she put her hand on his arm. "I would never ask that, I'm sorry."

John took a deep breath. "You have to know I'm risking a lot by how I'm treating him, okay?" he said. "By all rights, I should leave Barnes in lock-up without his shoes or belt. But I can't see how he'll help us if I do that, and in spite of what Rodney said, we are flying blind here. I need Barnes to help us. So far, it's worked out okay."

"It has," Natasha agreed. "But John, be honest with him. If he thinks you're trying to trick him, it's going to go badly."

John gave her a sideways smile. "I have no plans to try to trick him," he said. "Go make your phone call, I'll catch up with you later."

Natasha glared at John's retreating back, clenching her jaw to keep from saying something unfortunate.

* * *

She filled Clint in on the situation, including, reluctantly, the results of the fingerprint analysis on the Winter Soldier.

Cling relayed this message to Tony and Bruce, who were in the labs with him in Stark Tower. There was a brief scuffle, then the sound changed as the call went on the speakers.

"That's insane," Tony said from a distance. "All-American Brooklyn boy becomes a Soviet killing machine?"

"Tony, did your dad know Bucky Barnes?" Clint asked.

"Probably," Tony said. "But let's just say that Howard's main point of interest was the Captain America and Howard Stark show. Not much room for the supporting actors in that one."

"Shall I pull up the pertinent part of Sgt. Barnes' service record from the SHIELD server, sir?" Jarvis broke in.

"Yeah," Tony said. There was a pause, then a low whistle. "Jesus, Romanoff, you sure do run to type, don't you?"

"Clint, translate," Natasha ordered.

"This guy, Nat, his record is nuts," Clint said. "He only served for a couple of years, half of that on Steve's Howling Commando squad, but he made a crazy number of sniper kills. He specialized in infiltration; Steve would send him to the enemy line to cut down their sentries before the Commandos rushed the outpost."

"One of his superiors said it was God-given talent," Bruce added, and he did not sound happy about it.

"It was war, Bruce, it was a different time," Natasha said. The Winter Soldier had always been told he was a hero during the war.

Only it had been someone else's war.

"Sir," Jarvis said. "May I direct your attention to the period in which Sgt. Barnes was held at a Hydra facility?"

"What?" Natasha demanded. "What happened to him?"

"His unit was overrun," Jarvis said in his unruffled voice. "He and most of his unit, along with Allied prisoners from other units, were held at a Hydra facility that was manufacturing weapons. Captain Rogers, with the assistance of Howard Stark and Agent Margaret Carter, made an unauthorized incursion behind enemy lines. While rescuing the Allied prisoners, Captain Rogers found Sgt. Barnes in a separate part of the facility. He had been beaten and tortured."

Natasha pressed her hand over her mouth. She knew the Winter Soldier was strong, the strongest and bravest man she knew. But the thought of him being held by Hydra, beaten and alone…

"How old was he?" Natasha asked when she could speak.

"He was twenty-two years old, Agent Romanoff."

Twenty-two. He'd only been in the war for a few months, an American boy who'd never known famine or genocide or war.

"It says here that after the rescue, the American doctors told him that, based on his injuries, Sgt. Barnes should have been rotated back up the line into a supply post," Tony said. "He must have refused so he could join the Commandos."

"Things would have turned out pretty different if he'd taken the supply job," Clint said.

A lifetime of choices rose up and threatened to strangle Natasha. "I would have died as a child," she said flatly. "And we would not be having this conversation."

She would have died on the Department X training ground without the Winter Soldier to teach her how to survive. She would never have been able to help the Avengers stop Loki and the Chitari in New York. A thousand missions, a thousand different outcomes.

Her son would never have been born.

Natasha took a breath and used every ounce of control to crush her impending hysteria. That was in the past, all that had happened to her, to the Winter Soldier, to young James Barnes.

"Does the file say how he died?" Natasha asked.

"Sgt. Barnes and Steve boarded a train that was bound for a Hydra facility," Bruce said. "There was an exchange of fire as the train passed over a high ravine. Barnes was thrown from the train and it says that Steve tried to grab him but he fell before Steve got to him."

"Christ," Tony muttered. "Watching your friend die like that…"

It was all too easy for Natasha to imagine the Winter Soldier as that young man full of bravado from Steve's drawing, falling, screaming, into the ice-cold darkness below.

"So what is the Air Force going to do with the Winter Soldier now?" Tony asked. "I can't image that Steve's going to let his buddy go without a fight."

"I don't know," Natasha said, the uncertainty of the day chewing its way through her gut.

She didn't see how the military would let the Winter Soldier go, not after what he'd done in Area 51, after the files General Mikhailov had given them.

But Natasha had promised the Winter Soldier that she would save him. And so save him she must.

Whoever he was, wherever he came from, she knew the man he had become. She wasn't going to lose him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ages of Steve and Bucky aren't explicitly stated in the movie, but screenshots from _CA_ indicate that Cap was born in 1918 while the cut scenes from _the Avengers_ (where Cap Is Sad) show that Bucky was born in 1922. IDK you guys.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

"Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel Jackson looked up at the sound of the airman's voice. He blinked twice. "Yes?"

"Colonel Sheppard asked me to escort Agent Romanoff down here," the man said, letting Natasha into the office.

Daniel rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why?"

"I told him I wanted to know more about Isis," Natasha said, stepping deeper into the cluttered room.

"The god or the Goa'uld?" Daniel gave the airman a nod, and the man quietly left the office.

"I assume that one will lead to the other," Natasha said. She ran her gaze along the eclectic collection of artifacts and clutter on the shelves. Papers and books of all shapes were stacked along one wall, decades of work in one place.

"Likely," Daniel said, his features relaxing slightly. "We don't have much on this particular Goa'uld, given that we thought she was held captive for thousands of years until her death in the canopic jar."

"Vala thinks it's likely that Isis is still alive," Natasha said, stopping beside Daniel's work table.

"Vala knows how dangerous the Goa'uld Isis was," Daniel said. He went over to the wall of books. "And considering what Osiris did once he got a host…" Daniel pulled down a book, his back to Natasha. Even though his face was hidden, she could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was upset.

"Did you know the host?" Natasha asked, making her voice soft and unthreatening.

Daniel pulled down another book, then retrieved a sheaf of papers from a drawer. "Yes," he said after a minute. "Sarah."

"Did she die?"

Daniel carried the books over to a clear space on the work table. "No, Sarah's alive," he said. "But it's been really hard for her, getting through it, trying to get her life back."

That tension was still on him, in the set of his jaw, how he held his shoulders. "Who else did the Goa'uld take from you?" Natasha asked.

Daniel straightened the books on the tabletop. "My wife," he said reluctantly. "Sha're. The Goa'uld took her as a host, only we couldn't get her back. She's dead."

The room was quiet, the lights soft on the artifacts and the books, the dusty smell of history in the air. Natasha reached out and placed her fingers on the table beside the book, not touching Daniel. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said.

Daniel looked up, meeting Natasha's eyes. "Thanks," he said, then pushed his glasses up his nose. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"I'm a good listener," Natasha told him.

"That's exactly what Jack said."

Natasha raised her eyebrows at that. "What else did Jack tell you about me?" she asked, keeping her voice even. She could just imagine what Jack O'Neill might have to say about her, given their past.

Daniel smiled. "That you got the better of him in some Cold War spy game. Also that you didn't kill him when you could have."

From the tone of the man's voice, Natasha suspected she knew what he had left out. "Contrary to rumour," Natasha said, letting some iron creep back into her words, "In most cases, killing enemy agents was frowned upon. Besides, Jack is a soldier, not a spy."

Daniel's smile grew. "Jack also said you tried to school him on not sleeping with the local girls."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. Advice he ignored."

"On numerous occasions." Daniel pushed the books toward Natasha. "These have sections on the Isis mythology. The one in German has the best translation from the ancient Egyptian."

"Thank you." Natasha opened the top book and settled down into the chair at the work bench, while Daniel went back to his chalkboard.

The books held fragments of stories about Isis, myths and rumours. Isis had been the daughter of Gab and Nut, brother earth and sister sky, themselves the grandchildren of the sun god Ra. Isis had one sister, Nephthys, and two brothers, Osiris and Seth. Isis had married the elder brother Osiris and had become queen of Egypt.

Apparently incest among the gods had been fashionable back in the day.

The main story of Isis, the one around the murder and resurrection of Osiris, Daniel had told the Avengers the previous day. But in the depths of the German book, Natasha found another interesting story about Isis.

"Dr. Jackson," Natasha said, carrying the book over to Daniel's side. "Do you know about this?

Daniel peered down at the pages. "Now that," he said, taking the book from Natasha, "Is one of the most fascinating stories that we've found about Ra."

"Does it seem like it might be related more to the Goa'uld than a story told around the campfire?"

Daniel ran his fingers down the page. "It certainly does sound like something a Goa'uld would do," he said, as Teal'c entered the room.

"What does?" Teal'c asked.

"The old Egyptian myth of Isis poisoning Ra."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "This story is unfamiliar to me," he said. "The Goa'uld were careful never to tell their Jaffa anything that might make them seen less than all-powerful."

"It's a fascinating tale," Daniel said, turning the book around and tapping the stylized illustration of Isis. "Isis wanted Ra's power over all of creation, so she took some mud from the banks of the Nile and mixed it with Ra's saliva and molded the mud into a clay serpent."

"Isis hid the serpent on the path and the next day, as Ra walked by, the serpent bit his ankle and crumbled back into dust," Natasha continued, leaning against the work table. "The story goes that Isis told Ra she could only save him if she knew his secret name."

"His true source of power," Daniel said. "The pain from the snake's bite grew so great that Ra finally told Isis his secret name, and she healed him with her magic."

Teal'c nodded. "This is similar to a tale I have heard about the creation of the sarcophagus, that in order to create the healing device, Isis needed magic from Ra. It was for him that she first built the sarcophagus."

Daniel appeared surprised. "That actually makes sense," he said after a minute. "She poisons him with something the Goa'uld symbiote can't heal, then forces him to give up his secrets in order to save his own life."

"Yet we now know that the origins of the sarcophagus technology is Ancient in design," Teal'c said.

"If she could convince Ra otherwise, Isis could have had nearly limitless power," Natasha said. "And if you have power over the head god, it's likely that the same power carried over the other gods."

"Which would explain why no one put up much of a fuss when Seth removed Isis and Osiris from their hosts," Daniel said. He pulled his glasses off thoughtfully. "They must have hated her quite a bit."

"They were scared of her." Natasha looked at the picture of Isis in profile. The illustration made the goddess appear feminine, nurturing. Harmless.

Natasha had spent decades of her life keeping up just such appearances. The most dangerous agents were never the ones who looked like they could kill you; they were the ones who looked like they would never try.

"Who were people scared of?" The question preceded Vala Mal Doran into the room, Steve Rogers close on her heels.

"Isis," Daniel said cheerfully.

Vala went around to look over Daniel's shoulder at the book. "Of course they were," she said. "I finished showing Captain Rogers around the Gateroom and the labs and stuff. How else am I supposed to distract him?"

She addressed the question to Daniel, but Teal'c answered. "Colonel Sheppard asked me to locate you with a request for Captain Rogers."

"What might that be?" Steve asked.

Teal'c handed Steve a slip of paper. "Colonel Sheppard is interested in attempting to restore Sgt. Barnes' memory. The Colonel wonders if being shown pictures and told stories of his youth might trigger something in Sgt. Barnes."

"He's never remembered anything before," Natasha interjected.

"Maybe something familiar might help," Teal'c went on. "Childhood memories stay with us the strongest."

Steve gave a quick nod. "I'll do it," he said, and looked at Natasha. "Anything to get Bucky back."

Natasha returned Steve's glare. "Getting him to remember his childhood isn't going to take away what the Winter Soldier has done."

"Someone has to help him remember who he is," Steve retorted.

"General O'Neill suggested you access this country's national photograph archives in order to show Sgt. Barnes pictures of your childhood," Teal'c said.

Steve frowned. "Can I do that? Because that's a good idea."

"May I accompany you?" Teal'c asked. Daniel and Vala looked at him in surprise. "I could be interested in seeing pictures of what your world was like at that time."

"That's a bit before your time, isn't it?"

Teal'c expression softened into a smile. "It is not, Captain Rogers. At the time you and Sgt. Barnes were children, I was already a young Jaffa in the service of Apophis."

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, sure," he said after a moment. "If you want to see what Brooklyn used to be like, I can show you that. It's all pretty different now."

Teal'c and Steve left the room, Steve still talking about his hometown. Natasha watched them go.

"I wonder who would win in a sparring match between them," Vala said in an undertone.

"Steve is extremely agile," Natasha said.

"Maybe, but Teal'c's wily." Vala hopped up onto the worktable. "Either way, I'd love to see it."

Natasha drifted back over to the worktable and looked at the portrait of Isis once more. "Vala, you said that Isis used to experiment on people?"

"She was trying to make the perfect host," Vala said, kicking her feet absently. "Everyone knew what she was doing, and some of the Goa'uld wanted her to stop, but Ra wanted to see if she could actually do it."

"Why would the Goa'uld want Isis to stop trying to make the perfect host?" Daniel asked. "And what does that even mean, a perfect host?"

Vala shrugged, her hands twisting around each other. The nervous energy in the woman was something Natasha hadn't seen before. "The perfect host was the unattainable dream back then. It was a human host that wouldn't age and could heal without the sarcophagus. Some of the Goa'uld didn't like their dependence on the thing."

"To do that, Isis would have to find a human being who didn't age," Daniel said. "When a Goa'uld stops using the sarcophagus to stay young, the host body ages and dies eventually."

Vala clapped her hands together sharply. "You're not listening," she said. There was something haunted in the woman's eyes. "Isis wasn't trying to find someone immortal, she was trying to make someone like that. She experimented on children. Their bodies could take more than the adults."

Daniel stared at Vala, shocked. "The children could take more of _what_?"

Vala met Daniel's eyes. "She was trying to rewrite their DNA, to make them different, make them better. Most of the children died on the table anyway." Vala closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath. "That's why the Goa'uld wanted her to stop. Even slaves rise up against any god that kills their children."

Natasha crossed her arms to hide the trembling of her hands. Vala's story of experimenting on a child to make them heal faster, to stay young forever, ripped open memories of her own childhood.

Years before, Natasha had told John that she'd been a child when the doctors in the Red Room experimented on her, but she hadn't told him the rest; the memories of the searing pain, the agony as her entire body ripped itself apart, on fire from the inside out.

She'd been restrained hand and foot, a strap in her mouth to keep her from biting through her own tongue. To this day, Natasha still woke from nightmares of being back on that table, unable to move as her body tore itself apart.

Sometimes, in her nightmares, she died on that table.

Other times, it was John on that table, her little three-year-old baby boy tied down, cut open, screaming, dying.

Daniel cleared his throat, dragging Natasha out of the past. "How could anyone do that to a child?" he asked.

"She's Goa'uld, Daniel," said Vala. "What does she care about some human children?"

"Damn it," Daniel muttered. He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "Just when you think you've heard it all…"

"How do you know all this?" Natasha asked, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

"Quetesh was a young Goa'uld back then," Vala said, and shuddered. "She remembered the way things had once been."

The phone on Daniel's desk, startling everyone. Daniel went to answer it as Vala slipped off the table. "Hello? Yeah, she's here."

Daniel listed intently for a minute, oblivious as Vala stole a sip from his coffee cup.

"Sure thing, Jack. Bye." Daniel hung the phone up. "They want Agent Romanoff in the briefing room."

"I'll take her," Vala said.

Daniel frowned. "Why?"

"Because we have a lot to talk about," Vala said, going to Natasha's side. "Come on."

And with that, Vala tugged at Natasha's jacket sleeve and pulled her into the hallway.

"We have a lot to talk about?" Natasha asked. She was having a hard time compartmentalizing the day, with her past rattling around like dried bones in the winter.

"We do," Vala said. She left her hand on Natasha's sleeve as they walked, looking for all the world like two friends out for a stroll. "I hear a rumour that Colonel Sheppard is your son."

Natasha looked over at Vala. The woman's green eyes were bright and lovely, filled with curiosity. Natasha remembered what John had said about Vala. One of the good guys, he'd told her. "I am John's mother," Natasha admitted cautiously, not sure what the woman might do with that knowledge.

Vala smiled. "He's a fine boy," she said. "And adorable. He's not my type, but he is cute."

"What is your type?" Natasha asked. She wondered where this conversation was going. Neither she nor Vala were the sort of women to idly discuss men like this.

"Blond, glasses," Vala said. "Into books and things."

Natasha recalled the interaction between Vala and Daniel, and the undercurrents there. "How is that going?"

Vala shrugged, slipping her hair over her shoulder. "I have a long-term plan." Then Vala stepped in front of Natasha, blocking her way. "Sam told me that you can sense Goa'uld hosts."

Natasha blinked at the sudden topic change. "I was able to sense Colonel Carter," she said cautiously.

Vala held out her hands, palms up, looking at Natasha expectantly. "Try me."

Natasha's stomach cramped in anticipation, the remembered thrill of metal up her spine when she'd touched Colonel Carter's skin, then the bar of naquada.

Vala was staring at Natasha.

Natasha wanted to decline, to walk away from this confusing woman, but in her heart Natasha knew she had to do this. Unlike Colonel Carter, whose Goa'uld symbiote had died in her body, Vala's symbiote had been removed. Natasha had to know what trace of naquada could remain in such a woman.

Steeling herself with a breath, Natasha put her hands on Vala's. The reaction was instantaneous; the hint of naquada in Vala's skin was faint but perceptible.

Natasha closed her fingers around Vala's hands, letting the sensation run through her body, familiarizing herself with the feel of it, the nauseating taste on the back of her tongue.

An officer walked past them, staring in confusion. "Eyes front, soldier," Vala ordered. "Haven't you ever seen two women holding hands in the corridor before?"

The officer scampered off as Natasha let go of Vala's hands and tried to compose herself.

"Could you feel it?" Vala asked. "The naquada?"

Natasha nodded. She couldn't make her tongue move to form words, not just yet.

Vala slipped her hand around Natasha's elbow and guided her down the corridor. "Sam and I can feel Goa'uld hosts still," she said. "It's not all that pleasant."

Natasha managed to swallow. When she thought she could speak without gagging, she said, "How long were you Quetesh's host?"

Looking straight ahead, Vala only said, "Too long."

* * *

Vala delivered Natasha to the briefing room with a smile and hurried off down the hall, intent on some distant destination.

When Natasha went through the door, she discovered that Jack O'Neill was alone in the room. "General," she said evenly, closing the door behind her with a click.

"Agent Romanoff," Jack said. He looked tired and old, and Natasha was reminded that it had been nearly thirty years since Berlin, since her mission that had drawn them together.

Natasha wondered how different the world would be now, had she let the Winter Soldier shoot Jack that day in Krakow.

"What happens now?" she asked, moving across to the room to sit in an unoccupied chair a fair distance away from Jack.

The man shrugged. "We wait for the fun to begin."

"What kind of fun?"

"The dangerous kind." Jack said. The small black box on the table let out a beep, and a small circle appeared in one side. After a moment, the box projected a scene on the far wall. The display showed the Winter Soldier at the table where Natasha had left him earlier that day. He sat still, staring straight ahead, his metal hand lying flat on the table, his other hand in a loose fist.

Natasha knew that pose; the Winter Soldier was on edge and apprehensive. If he had been more relaxed, he'd have been fidgeting after the long hours of enforced inactivity.

"He's fine," Natasha said, more to reassure herself.

"Proper water rations, bathroom breaks, all the usual courtesies," Jack said. "Sheppard wants him as comfortable as detention guidelines allow."

"You disapprove."

"Not exactly," Jack replied. He looked down at his notes on the table. "Like I said, this is Sheppard's rodeo."

"And why is that?" Natasha asked. "I thought that the Winter Soldier would rank attention from someone of a higher rank than Colonel."

"That's why they gave this one to me, at first," Jack said. "But this isn't the Cold War anymore. This is about the whole planet, and I needed someone who isn't biased with old politics."

"Does that still count after we catch whoever stole the Area 51 database?" Natasha asked. "What will you do with the Winter Soldier then?"

"That depends on we hear, doesn't it?" Jack said.

On the display, the Winter Soldier turned his head. A moment later, John came through the door, accompanied by two airmen. One of them carried the binders that General Mikhailov brought the previous night, while the other carried a stack of folders. John held two bottles of water, which he put on the table. "Hey."

The Winter Soldier looked at John steadily. He said nothing as the airmen put the binders and folders on the table, then left the room. The door closed with an audible click.

John undid the button on his jacket as he sat across the table from the Winter Soldier. "Want something to drink?" he asked, pushing one of the bottles across the table.

The Winter Soldier gestured with his organic hand. "Do you?"

John gave a tired smile. "I'm not trying to poison you." He uncapped the bottle of water and took a drink, then put the bottle on the table. "And sodium pentothal is so old-school, don't you think?"

"Don't your aliens have mind-reading probes by now?" the Winter Soldier asked. He took a small sip from the open bottle, then another.

"Oh, we've got those," John said. "But considering what Department X put you through, I'm not sure that using those devices could give us any reliable results without turning your brain into soup."

The Winter Soldier lowered the bottle to the table with deliberate movements. "What would you know about Department X?" he asked, his voice cold and empty. He was retreating into the shell of the Winter Soldier, the perfect warrior. A man who would give away nothing.

John settled back in his chair. "General Mikhailov was quite explicit in some of his files. In fact, he's so hot for us to put you in front of a firing squad that he gave us more than he should have."

"And what, after I help you catch Isis, you line me up in front of this firing squad?" the Winter Soldier asked. "I thought you Americans used hanging for your executions."

John refused to be drawn in. "We don't need your help with Isis," he said, flipping open the top folder. "We'll find your contact when he logs in to the database. You've pretty much outlived your usefulness on that point."

The Winter Soldier shifted in his chair, visibly uneasy. Natasha felt the same way; this wasn't how an interrogation was supposed to go. She glanced over at Jack. His face was unreadable as he watched the scene play out.

"So what are we doing here?" the Winter Soldier asked John.

John stared at the Winter Soldier, and there was no humour in his expression. "Call it personal curiosity," he said as he opened one of the binders and leafed through the pages. "About a man without a name. About what a man like that might do."

"Do you have any particular questions?" the Winter Soldier asked, still wary.

John rested his forearms on the table and looked straight at the Winter Soldier. "Just one," John said. His voice was too calm, not like him at all. "Did you rape my mother when she was a child?"

"What?" Natasha exclaimed as the Winter Soldier pushed his chair back from the table. Natasha had never seen him look so shocked.

"No! What are you talking about?" the Winter Soldier demanded. "I never did anything like that! I never would!"

"Really?" John asked, letting anger bleed into his voice. "Because this," and he pushed the open binder across the table. "Suggests that you did."

"What is this?" Natasha asked. "What is John doing?"

Jack never looked away from the display. "Colonel Sheppard is conducting this interrogation as he sees fit," was all Jack said.

Natasha looked back at the display. The Winter Soldier was reading the open page in the binder, and his expression was growing more murderous with every passing moment.

"This is all lies!" the Winter Soldier exclaimed, shoving the binder away. "I never did anything like that to her!"

"There were several witnesses to Captain Lipov's allegations," John said. "Says so right here."

"Lipov was a pervert who should never have been around children," the Winter Soldier snarled, slamming his hand down on the table.

"So what really happened?" John asked.

The Winter Soldier pushed his hair back from his face. His previous cold exterior was gone now, replaced by pure, burning anger. "We were on a training mission," he said. "I'd taken Natalia out for some practical sniper experience in forested mountain terrain. We were gone overnight and when we got back, I was asked for a report on her progress. I gave my report and after that Lipov made some comment about how I looked more relaxed than normal and if I'd been teaching Natalia something other than sharp-shooting."

"And what did you say?" John asked.

The Winter Soldier stood in agitation, pacing to the end of the small room and back again. He put his hands flat on the table and stared down at John. "I told him that I didn't fuck children and it was a little surprising that that was the first place his mind had gone," the Winter Soldier said, so angry. "I suggested that maybe overseeing the children's program wasn't the best place for him."

"That's it?"

"No, I told him to stay the fuck away from Natalia if that was how he thought about her!" the Winter Soldier exclaimed. "The others in the room heard us. I have no idea where that report came from."

John leaned back in his chair. "Maybe the report is accurate. Maybe they just got the name wrong."

Natasha saw the moment that John's insinuation hit home. The Winter Soldier sucked in a breath and straightened up, his hands clenched into fists. "No," he said after a minute. "No, Natalia would have told me if anyone had done that to her."

"So you could do what?"

The Winter Soldier's lip curled up in disgust. "If I'd ever found out anyone had forced Natalia to do anything like that, do you know what I'd have done?" he demanded. "I'd have tied that man down and started chopping pieces off of him until he stopped moving, do you understand?"

"You were pretty invested in her as a child," John said. He picked up the other bottle of water and opened it. "Why is that?"

The Winter Soldier backed against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "She was a good kid," he said, still seething. "She was this little tiny thing, smart as hell and no clue how to keep herself alive."

"So you were her mentor," John's voice made it clear he didn't buy it. "Just trying to help a girl out."

"In part," the Winter Soldier said. "When I was out of stasis, I functioned as one of her instructors."

"Yeah, I've read about your particular brand of instruction." John opened the other binder. "It says that they'd pull you out of the freezer, load your head up with lies and point you at a target. Until Agent Romanoff was assigned to a long-term project in Connecticut in 1968, she was with you on more than half of those missions." John opened another of his folders. "So basically you turned that little girl into a murderer."

The Winter Soldier let out a breath, trying to regain his calm. "I taught Natalia how to survive," he said.

"You taught her how to kill—"

"We were following orders!" the Winter Soldier exclaimed. "Natalia may have been young, but she was a soldier, just like us!"

"A twelve-year-old is not a soldier!" John yelled.

"I didn't bring her into the Red Room!" the Winter Soldier shouted back. "They made her into what she was long before I met her! I saw what happened to the other children, Sheppard. They were tools, disposable. I didn't want Natalia to die that way!"

He glared at John, ready for the next salvo, but John just took another drink of water and went back into the binders.

Natasha clenched her hands in her lap. She had no idea what was driving John, why he'd started the interrogation like this. None of this made any sense.

The allegations against the Winter Soldier had shaken her. She remembered that sharp-shooting training mission well, in spite of the intervening decades. They'd taken the train deep into the Ural mountains, disguise as a labourer and his young daughter. Natasha had been so excited; it was her first time on the train. All of her other excursions from the Department X compound had been by automobile.

They'd left the train at a small station and hiked up into the mountains. The Winter Soldier had given her a lesson in long-distance shooting and made her practice until it grew too dark to aim, then he'd built a small fire and they'd eaten bread and cheese and slept out under the stars.

The next morning, the Winter Soldier cooked a rabbit he'd hunted, then they'd headed back down the mountain. The Winter Soldier showed Natasha how to find edible plants, to identify and track animals by their prints. It was a wonderful holiday, and Natasha had never had so much fun.

"All right," John said after a minute. "Let's talk about Poland in 1959."

John's questions were relentless. The Winter Soldier couldn't regain his cold façade, not after how the interrogation began. He began to slip, saying more than he should, letting his emotions bleed through.

Every time he tried to put up his defensive walls, John wrapped the conversation back around to Natasha, and the Winter Soldier's composure took another hit.

Natasha could only watch the interrogation unfold. She felt sick, watching as the Winter Soldier's history was ripped to shreds by her son's questions.

Twice, John asked about incidents the Winter Soldier clearly had no knowledge of. Those gaps in his memory rattled him; he'd look over the papers in General Mikhailov's binders and refuse to answer.

Natasha knew more than anyone what the Winter Soldier had done in service of the Soviet Union and of Department X. He'd never hidden his work from her; on those occasions when he would refuse to speak of a particular mission, Natasha didn't press him. But usually, when they met while he was between missions and stasis, the Winter Soldier would tell her of his missions, and sometimes Natasha would tell him of her own work.

While nothing the Winter Soldier said surprised her, she knew what the litany of violence would sound like to someone who hadn't lived it with the man.

Not for the first time, Natasha was glad that John had arranged for Steve to be elsewhere during the interrogation. To Steve, the world was still so black and white. Natasha and the Winter Soldier lived in a world of grey, one Steve wouldn't be able to comprehend. All he would see was the darkness.

In the interrogation room, John had turned the conversation back to Natasha. "You know what I don't get?" he asked. The Winter Soldier glared at John. "Is 1969."

"What about it?" the Winter Soldier snapped.

"For fifteen years, whenever they pulled you out of stasis for a mission, you'd find the time to spend with Agent Romanoff, even for a little while," John said. "Then in 1969, they pulled you out and threw you to work in…" John consulted the binder. "London."

"So what?"

"So Agent Romanoff was in a long-term assignment in the States at that time."

"I know that."

"Didn't it bother you that you didn't get to see her?"

The Winter Soldier looked at a spot on the wall above John's head. "She was on an assignment."

"Really? That's your answer?" John nudged one of the binders. "Because it says here that after you completed your mission in London, you went off the grid for a few weeks."

The Winter Soldier's expression didn't change.

"You know what I think?" John said, leaning forward. "I think you tracked her down, found her pretending to be an all-American newlywed in Connecticut, and that pissed you off."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" John said. "It must have been a shock to see her like that, pretending to be everything you hated."

"This is ridiculous," the Winter Soldier muttered.

"The wife of some rich capitalist, living in style in a big house, only a few miles from the poorest part of town. Tell me, do you think she liked it?" John asked. "Being able to buy whatever she wanted? Living in luxury, after all those years in a communist military complex?"

"She was disgusted by it!" the Winter Soldier burst out. "All the excess, the inequality, the bigotry, it made her ill!"

"But she kept up the pretence, didn't she?" John said. "To the day he died, my father never doubted anything about the act she put on for him, did you know that?"

The Winter Soldier shook his head.

"What was that like? Seeing her as another man's wife?" John asked. "I mean, you'd been sleeping with her for years, then all of a sudden she's in another man's bed, that must have made you angry."

"It was a mission, nothing more," the Winter Soldier said. He was pale now, his gaze fixed firmly on John's face.

"Nothing more," John repeated. "The woman you'd trained since she was a child, Russia's perfect soldier, all of a sudden she's some rich American's wife and you're okay with that?"

The Winter Soldier clenched his jaw, visibly fighting his reaction.

"That must have burned," John went on. "Having to stand back and watch her do exactly what she'd been trained to do; look pretty and act dumb for some poor schmuck who had no idea how brilliant she really was. And you had to let her do it. That must have made you so mad, that another man got to experience how she'd been trained? There was nothing you could do when another man was fucking her, had to stand back and let him get her pregnant—"

"I didn't!" the Winter Soldier exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table.

Time froze. Natasha couldn't breathe, couldn't think, as the ground dropped out from under her.

"Stop talking!" John shouted, carrying on as if he hadn't heard a thing. As if he didn't understand. "Don't you get it? Didn't you see what your superiors were doing with the two of you?" He picked up the binder and all but threw it at the Winter Soldier. "They spent years making sure you were emotionally connected to Natasha, so the first time you went rogue, you didn't vanish, all you did was run right to her side!"

The Winter Soldier pushed the binder to the ground. The rings popped open and paper went flying. "I was making sure she was able to satisfactorily complete her first deep-cover mission—" the Winter Soldier started to say.

John interrupted. "You endangered her mission and could have blown her cover out of the water, and your superiors knew it! But they didn't punish you for it, and do you know why?"

The Winter Soldier leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms defiantly. "You think you know so much, you tell me," he spat.

"Because they could use her to control you," John said. He stood up. "That's what you do when you build a monster. You put in a failsafe in case you lose control."

"And you think that's what Natalia is," the Winter Soldier said. "My failsafe?"

"She's your weak spot," John said. "You really messed up when you found her in New York last week. If you'd just left her alone, we'd never have seen you coming in Area 51. You'd have gotten away with it." John leaned on the table, looking intently at the Winter Soldier. "Instead, you broke down and found the one person you could never stay away from. And now you're stuck in here."

John stood and buttoned his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles. The Winter Soldier did not move.

"One last thing," John said as he turned to go. "Algeria in 1983."

The Winter Soldier glared at John. "What about it?"

"It says in there that you killed seventeen men."

The Winter Soldier glared a little harder.

"You were punished for that, why is that?"

The Winter Soldier ground his teeth. "I disobeyed orders."

"Why was that?

The Winter Soldier kicked the broken binder. "My orders were to wipe out an entire village in order to influence the regional political situation. The deaths of those seventeen men had the same effect. There was no need to kill eighty women and children."

Without another word, John turned on his heel and left the room.

At Natasha's side, Jack let out a long sigh. "You know, I'll be completely honest," he said slowly. "If I'd known that about Sheppard, I wouldn't have brought him into the Stargate program."

"No one knew," Natasha said, feeling hollow.

"That was probably for the best," Jack said.

"What was the purpose of all this?" Natasha asked. "Why did you do this?"

"Sheppard wanted to clarify a few things," Jack said. "Did the Winter Soldier lie at all during what you heard?"

Natasha shook her head slowly. "He didn't always tell me everything he was doing, but the rest was true."

The door opened, and John entered the room. He didn't look at Natasha. "General."

"Colonel," Jack returned. "Get what you wanted?"

"In part." John leaned against the table, watching the Winter Soldier on the display. "The rest should come in by the morning."

Jack stood up. "I'm going to go talk to Hank. Come on down when you're done for the night, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

Jack gave Natasha one last glance, and left the room.

The following silence was appalling.

Natasha tried to come up with something, but the words wouldn't come. What could she say?

But she had to say something, to do something.

She hadn't expected this day to be the one when all of her deepest secrets were laid bare in front of her son. "John…"

"Did Dad ever tell you he had the mumps when he was a teenager?" John said abruptly, without turning around. "Half the kids in his grade caught it; someone came back with it after the war or something."

"Patrick did tell me that."

"Did you know that sometimes, mumps can make a guy infertile?"

Natasha looked at her hands. "I've heard that is the case."

"He wrote me a letter; I got it a few months after he died. He'd asked his lawyer to send it after the estate went through probate. God knew we couldn't have a conversation face to face like normal people." John turned around then, putting his back to the display. He was dead white. "Turns out he got tested after Stepmother Amanda had a baby that looked like the milkman."

"The house in Connecticut didn't have a milkman," Natasha said.

John narrowed his eyes. "Like Deputy Sheriff Brown, then."

Natasha drew herself up, back straight. "I suspect there were a lot of kids in town that looked like Lewis Brown."

"Seriously?" John demanded. "That's your comeback?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"An explanation might be nice!"

"What do you want me to explain?" Natasha asked.

"How about why you felt the need to pass that man's kid," and John pointed angrily at the Winter Soldier on the display, "As Patrick Sheppard's son. Maybe about why you've been lying to me for my whole life?"

He didn't sound angry anymore, only exhausted, and that was so much worse. Natasha rose to her feet and went around the table to John's side. She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away.

Natasha made herself stand still as her son pulled away from her.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha said, "I didn't know Patrick couldn't have children. I'd been trying to get pregnant since the wedding. When I found out that I was pregnant with you, I told myself that you had to be Patrick's."

"And when you saw me and I looked like another man's son?" John said, and his mask broke, raw anger bleeding out into the room.

"You didn't." Natasha reached out for John again, and this time he didn't move away. "You looked like Patrick when you were a baby. The Winter Soldier and Patrick looked alike."

John clenched his jaw. It took him a moment to speak. "He didn't blame you. He said it in his letter. He'd been cheating on you with Amanda practically since before you were married."

"I know," Natasha said quietly. She'd been aware that Patrick had been sleeping with Amanda, an old friend of his family, since before she had even met him. Everyone had expected Patrick and Amanda to marry, but he'd surprised them all by marrying ‘Natalie'.

With other people, it would just have been the ugly secrets that every family had.

John ran his hand through his hair. "What is it about this guy?" he asked, jerking his head toward the Winter Soldier. "Why him?"

Natasha looked at the Winter Soldier, who was now pacing up and down the small room. "He was the first person who didn't look at me like I was a tool to be used," she said. "He treated me like a human being. That's probably the only reason I'm alive."

"What does that mean?"

Natasha pulled her braid over her shoulder, tugging at the elastic absently. "Other people taught me how to kill. The Winter Soldier taught me how to survive. He's the only one who told me I had a right to survive. That is important when you're nine years old."

"So he saved your life."

"No," Natasha said firmly. "He reminded me that I could save my own life. Everything I've done, I've done myself. They were my choices, my actions." She pushed her braid over her shoulder. "Sometimes, though, it's easier to fight when you have a friend in your corner."

John shook his head. "At least you're friends," he said. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"When did you know?" Natasha asked.

"What, that my father is an amnesiac Cold War assassin?" John said sarcastically.

"Yes."

John sighed. "The Ancient gene in humans is rare, like one in five million rare. When the Winter Soldier starts turning on Ancient tech like it's nothing, let's just say that it made things a bit clearer."

"Are you okay with this?" Natasha asked.

"I'm really not," John said. "But I'm good at denial, so let's pretend that things are fine, okay?"

Natasha pressed her lips together and looked at him, for really, what did that ever solve?

"Anyway," John said quickly, as the display on the wall shifted to show Steve Rogers entering the interrogation room. "I need a favour."

"What?" Natasha asked, half-distracted as she watched Steve take a seat at the table. The Winter Soldier watched Steve from the corner, jaw set in frustration.

"If I read the Winter Soldier file right, this is just the kind of situation where he'll try to make a run for it."

Privately, Natasha agreed. The Winter Soldier was able to withstand physical torture, but the emotional catastrophes of the day would have primed his fight-or-flight responses. She just hoped that his emotions didn't spill out into the room with Steve.

Speaking of Steve, the man was staring hopefully at the Winter Soldier. "Colonel Sheppard wanted me to show you where we grew up, in case you remember anything."

The Winter Soldier returned to his chair and slouched into it. "Fuck off," he said.

John sighed at the display. "How likely do you think it is he'll try to escape?"

"It's possible," Natasha said. "Did you want me to spend the night in the detention cell again?"

In the interrogation room, Steve had pulled up a black and white photograph, projected onto the far wall. "Do you remember this?" Steve asked. "This is the orphanage in Brooklyn. This is where we met when we were kids."

The Winter Soldier didn't so much as look at the photo. "Never seen it before in my life."

John coughed gently. "There's another option," he said to Natasha. "If you're up for it, the Winter Soldier could spend the night in the guest quarters with you."

Natasha turned to look at John, unsure she understood his meaning. "Why?"

"Because Barnes didn't sleep last night," John said. "I had the security team keeping an eye on the surveillance feeds, and he was awake all night. Considering he probably hopped onto the secure transport in the wee hours, that's another night he was awake. I don't care how super-soldier this guy is, forty-eight hours without sleep added to the day he'd had is likely to end in a freakout and I really don't want a guy who once killed five men while handcuffed to a wall to have a nervous breakdown on my base."

In the interrogation room, Steve was running through a series of photographs, describing them as he went. The Winter Soldier's gaze never left Steve's face.

"Why do you care so much about the Winter Soldier's mental state?" Natasha asked.

"I kind of lied about not needing him on the Isis project," John admitted. "If we do get a location on the database ping, we'll need him to identify his contact."

Natasha looked at the display. The Winter Soldier was now leaning back in this chair, staring at the ceiling while Steve spoke in increasingly frustrated tones.

"Guards at either end of the corridor," Natasha said after a minute. "Any closer and they might not react in time if the Winter Soldier does go through the door. And no cameras or recording equipment in the room."

"Are you going to be in any danger?" John asked, frowning.

"No," Natasha said. "But you're going to put guards on the room anyway, so this is the best compromise."

Meanwhile, Steve had stopped himself mid-sentence. "Are you even listening to me?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged. "Are you saying anything worth listening to?"

"If I couldn't remember my childhood, I'd sure as hell listen to someone I'd grown up with!"

"You make it sound like I'd want to remember that life," the Winter Soldier said, sitting upright. "Why? From all you're saying, it sounds like James Barnes was some loser orphan who had nothing going for him except a knack with the ladies until he joined the Army, and then what? He gets captured and killed. What part of that life would I want to lay claim to?"

"That isn't it at all!" Steve exclaimed. "You were a good friend, a hard worker! You were working even before you left school—"

"Being able to hold down a job isn't exactly the best character testimonial," the Winter Soldier retorted, resting his mental arm on the table, his hand in a loose fist. "I'll stick with this life, thanks."

"Like you're doing any good down here," Steve snapped.

The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed, and now Natasha could admit to herself that this was one expression he shared with her son. His son. "Rumour is that they pulled you out of the ice two years ago, Captain. What the hell were you doing before the Chitari hit New York? I didn't see a lot of news about Steve Rogers' greatest exploits."

Steve went red as he pushed his chair back. The Winter Soldier instantly tensed, not moving except for his eyes as he watched Steve stand up.

"If those two start fighting, it's going to end badly," Natasha said. She just hoped that neither man would do anything stupid.

She didn't have the energy for their drama.

On the screen, the Winter Soldier watched Steve pace around the room, kicking the binder aside as he did so. "Why is this bothering you so much?" the Winter Soldier asked.

"Because you don't get it!" Steve said forcefully. "You're missing so much of your life--"

"So you're upset that I can't remember my past?" The Winter Soldier shook his head and continued, in Russian, "That is the most selfish thing I have heard in months."

"Would you stop doing that?" Steve demanded. "You know I can't speak it."

"Because everything is about you," the Winter Soldier said in English. "That's what's wrong with you Americans, everything is always about you, damn what the rest of the world wants—"

"That's not it—"

"Did you do any reading at all when you woke up in the twenty-first century?" the Winter Soldier asked. "Look at any American military action since the Second World War; you'll see what I mean."

"I know my history," Steve said. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt. "I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about you."

The Winter Soldier shook his head and shifted around in his chair, swinging his mental arm into his lap as he moved. Natasha knew from the slight change in his expression that his arm was causing him pain.

She wouldn't have thought that anyone else could read the Winter Soldier's expressions like she could, but Steve instantly said, "What's wrong? The doctor said you were all right."

"I'm fine," said the Winter Soldier.

"Is it your arm?" Steve asked. He sounded honestly concerned.

The Winter Soldier gave Steve an unfriendly glare. "Can we not do this?"

Steve came back over to the table and sat down. "How is it… How does your arm work?"

"I want it to move, it moves." The Winter Soldier put his metal hand on the table, made a fist and released it.

"How is the arm attached to your body?"

The Winter Soldier focused on his fist. For a full minute, Natasha thought the Winter Soldier wasn't going to respond, but then he looked up at Steve. "They said that my lower arm was crushed in an accident," the Winter Soldier said. "They had to amputate to here."

Using his right hand, the Winter Soldier indicated a spot on his left metal arm just above the elbow joint. Steve flinched.

"So you've still got part of your arm in there," Steve said after a moment. "Your real arm."

"This is better than a real arm," the Winter Soldier said with sudden fire. "It doesn't break, doesn't tire. It's better. It makes me better!"

Natasha rubbed her eyes, aching for the Winter Soldier. He was putting up such a solid front for Steve, but Steve had never been the one to wake up beside the man trying to choke back tears of pain when the metal bindings keeping his arm attached ground down hard against the bone; hadn't massaged the cramps out of his back when the muscles had been through all they could take.

"It seems a bit…" Steve trailed off.

"A bit what?" the Winter Soldier asked dangerously.

Natasha waited for Steve to say something that would set the Winter Soldier off again, but Steve just picked up his tablet and swiped to the next picture. "This is Coney Island in 1935," he said. "We went here a lot as kids."

The Winter Soldier settled back in his chair, his eyes on Steve's face.

John touches Natasha's shoulder. "Why don't you go grab some dinner for the two of you? I'll have Barnes brought to your room after he's done with Captain Rogers."

Natasha didn't move. "And what happens in the morning?"

"I don't know yet," John said. "I'm waiting for one last piece of evidence. I don't know what I'll do until then."

"What are the possible outcomes?" Natasha asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"Are you going to have him executed?"

John took his hand off her arm. "Why would you ask that?"

"Are you?" Natasha pressed. She had to know; the Winter Soldier deserved that much at least.

"No," John said with feeling. "Whatever happens, it shouldn't come to that."

"In spite of all he's done."

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" John asked, starting to sound angry.

"You know the answer to that," Natasha said.

"Sometimes I wonder." John ran his hand through his hair. "Promise me that both of you will still be here in the morning."

"I'm not going to break him out of U.S. military custody after all this," Natasha said.

"That's not what I asked."

"Fine," Natasha said. "Both I and the Winter Soldier will be present and accounted for tomorrow morning."

"Present and accounted for, here."

"John."

"Just covering my ass," John said. He turned and went over to the door leading to the General's office.

"John?" Natasha called. He turned back. "Are you okay?"

"No."

"Is there—"

"Can we deal with this after we get the database back and catch Isis?" he asked, hand on the doorknob. "Or never?"

Natasha breathed out. "If that's what you want."

John turned away without another word.

Natasha let her gaze drift over to the bay windows and to the top of the silent Stargate. She could have done nearly anything to have kept the truth from her son. For decades, she'd kept the secret of John's father to herself. No one in Department X had even suspected; if they had, they'd have demanded her son for themselves, a child of the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier.

And until today, Natasha would have said that even the Winter Soldier didn't know.

She'd once told herself that she didn't regret her actions, and she still didn't; if she hadn't slept with the Winter Soldier on that night in 1969, John would never have been born.

But it wasn't fair that John had been the one who'd born the brunt of her actions, with Patrick and later. She didn't know if she could ever make it up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info about [Canopic Jars](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canopic_jar). Isis myths: [the resurrection of Osiris](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osiris_myth) and [Ra's secret name](http://ancientegyptonline.co.uk/isisra.html)


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Hands full of the dinner tray, Natasha tapped on the closed door of the guest suite. "It's Natalia, I'm coming in," she called, carefully balancing the tray in one hand while she twisted the knob with the other.

Inside the room, the Winter Soldier stood by the far wall. Natasha closed the door with her foot, making sure the latch caught. "Where are the guards?" the Winter Soldier asked, subdued.

"At the ends of the corridor," Natasha told him, setting the tray on the room's small table. "In case you try anything."

"And what might I try?" the Winter Soldier asked, pushing off the wall. The room was not large, and there were only a few steps between them. "Something like this?" He was on her then, his hands going roughly around her waist, dragging her against him.

"Let me go," Natasha said, trying to pull away.

"Is this my reward for behaving all day?" the Winter Soldier demanded, pushing his hand under her shirt, the cold metal of his hand a shock against her stomach.

In a fluid motion, Natasha grabbed his wrist, twisting it up and off her waist as she planted her foot at the outside of his instep and turned sharply, pushing him off balance. He stumbled back.

"You don't get to touch me like that," Natasha said angrily. "I don't care what kind of bad day you had, don't ever do that again!"

She turned her back on him. Her own emotions were running away on her after the day's revelations, and she didn't have the energy or the patience to coddle the man's emotional breakdown.

After a minute, Natasha sensed movement. She tensed, telling herself that if the Winter Soldier grabbed her again, she was going to give him a proper thrashing. But he just moved to stand at her side, not touching. After a minute, he reached out and hooked one finger through a belt loop on her jeans, tugging gently.

When he didn't try anything else, Natasha let herself breathe again. "I'm no one's reward, do you understand?" she said, not looking at him.

"I know." Carefully, he moved closer to her, resting his metal hand on the small of her back.

"What is wrong with you?" Natasha asked, leaning into the warmth of his body.

"Nothing," he said, and she had never heard him lie so unconvincingly. "Did you bring me dinner?"

"I brought us both dinner," Natasha said, her anger at him still lingering. "But you need to shower first."

He pulled away from her. "What if I want to eat first?" he asked, voice oddly defiant.

She turned to look at him, frowning at the tone of his voice. "This morning you wanted nothing more than to shower," she pointed out. He stank of a few days' sweat, and Natasha knew how much he hated feeling unclean.

"Maybe now I want to eat." He lifted his chin slightly as he glared down at her.

Natasha threw her hands wide. "Do whatever you want," she said, stepping away. "I'm going over here."

"Fine," he spat.

"Fine," she threw back at him as she went over to the drawer where she'd put her overnight bag. She turned her back on the Winter Soldier and opened up the bag. All her weapons were where she'd left them, down to the number of bullets in her guns. She wouldn't have put it past the Winter Soldier to appropriate one of her knives, for all the good it would do him. She did a quick check of the knives, pulling one from its sheath to test its sharpness.

After a minute, Natasha heard the scuff of footsteps on the floor, and the bathroom door closed with a click.

Natasha stared down at the blade in her hand. She didn't understand why everything with the man had to be so complicated. She'd spent decades involved in espionage; she could keep the details from a dozen simultaneous missions straight in her head with ease. But nothing had ever been as messed up as her life currently was.

Coulson would have told her that it was because she was emotionally invested, and he wouldn't have meant it as a compliment. Emotional investment in any mission was a liability, but Natasha didn't know how to detach herself from this situation. Her son was involved, as was her lover, even her team back in New York.

Natasha drew the flat of the blade over the back of her hand, the sharp edge ghosting over her skin.

Some days, she didn't understand what her life had become. She was connected to so many people in so many ways. It wasn't how she'd been raised; as children in the Department X training grounds, they'd been told that emotional connections made them weak, vulnerable. She had not meant to become friends with the Winter Soldier; she was just so lonely as a child and he was the only one who gave a damn about her as a person. Somehow, he'd become her first friend.

She hadn't meant to love him either, so many years later when they became intimate. She'd told herself it was just an emotional reaction to the physical closeness. But none of the other men she slept with made her feel the same way, her pulse quickening at a single touch, his smile sending butterflies spinning in her stomach. The way he touched her in bed, his hands and mouth on her body; his lips on hers, kissing her breathless. All of the physical intimacy made deeper by the way he looked at her, smiled at her, knowing _he_ was with _her_ , knowing he would keep her safe and knowing that she would do anything to keep him safe too.

But it wasn't only the Winter Soldier who had bound her to the world of the living; she hadn't meant to love the child she'd born Patrick Sheppard. When she realized she was pregnant, she'd told herself that it was part of her mission. She would feed the child, keep it clean and warm and healthy, as a mother should. But she wasn't going to love something she couldn't keep.

Only it hadn't worked out that way. The first time she'd felt the baby move inside her belly, a quick little flutter of movement under her breastbone, she'd nearly been knocked over by the sudden fierce emotions. She'd tried to tell herself it was only hormones, how the baby's every twitch, every kick, made her want to curl up with her hands around her belly and tell the child inside her stories, protect it, keep it safe.

She'd gone into labor weeks too early at home in the middle of a violent summer storm while Patrick was out of town. The old housekeeper and the stable master's wife held her hands and talked her though the contractions and when John was born, so small and mewling quietly, they had laid him on Natasha's belly. He was wrinkled and covered in blood and fluids and she'd never loved anything as much as that tiny, helpless infant.

The housekeeper, a woman with four children of her own, told Natasha to put the baby to her breast. She'd done so, marveling that something so small, only a few minutes old, had such strong instincts to nurse, his tiny hand gripping her finger tight.

Three years later, leaving her son behind in America had nearly killed Natasha. In the cold long months following her return to Russia, she told herself that she could never let herself care for anything else ever again, would never let herself be ripped apart by loss.

Love made her careless. Love made her weak.

And for many long decades, she succeeded.

When she started working for SHIELD, she told herself she could work with Clint Barton until he'd outlived his usefulness to her. Only, in between the missions and the training, something changed. Over ten years and so much shared trust between them, he'd become her best friend. She trusted him more than anyone else in the world, even the Winter Soldier.

More connections, binding Natasha to the world of the living.

In the bathroom, the water turned on. Natasha sheathed her knife and set it on the dresser top before setting the bag back in the drawer. She went over to the room's main door and flipped the deadbolt. Only then did she cross over to the bathroom door, tapping on it twice.

"What?" came the Winter Soldier's voice through the door.

"Can I come in?"

A moment passed where the only sound was the shower, then, "Whatever."

Natasha slipped into the bathroom. The Winter Soldier was in the shower, his clothing scattered on the floor. He was staring at Natasha through the shower stall's glass.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Natasha stuck her hand in her jeans pocket, not sure what she wanted. She could have made some comment about making sure he didn't escape, but the levity of it, after the day they'd had, made the words stick in her throat.

Instead, she said, "Do you need some help with your back?"

"I'm fine," he said.

He wasn't fine; he leaned to the side more than normal, a tell-tale sign that his back was seizing up.

But she knew him too well to think that pointing that out would do any good. He was too damn stubborn. Instead, Natasha said, "Can I join you anyway?"

The Winter Soldier sighed. "Do whatever you want."

Natasha quickly shed her clothes, folding them and placing them on the counter, and slipped into the shower stall. It was a tight fit with two people, but Natasha was used to tight quarters with the Winter Soldier.

She picked up the soap from the ledge and slid it over his chest. He only resisted for a moment before turning his back to her.

The muscles along the left side of his back were rock hard. He let out a hiss as Natasha pressed her fingers into his back, trying to relieve some of the tension. Slowly, with the heat from the hot water and the pressure of her hands, the Winter Soldier's muscles relaxed, and he stood easier.

"Are you going to wash your hair?" Natasha asked quietly, leaning against his side. In the intimacy of the shower, she couldn't help her reaction to the nearness of the Winter Soldier, his body wet against her. Every time he moved, he brushed against her, sending shivers through her body.

"I suppose." He turned to look at her, so close. He hadn't shaved in a few days and the stubble on his chin was closer to a beard than he preferred, but she liked it. She lifted her head, and when he didn't pull away, she kissed him gently.

He brought his right hand up to cup her cheek, moving his lips against hers. When Natasha ran her hands down his back to his bum, he broke the kiss with an unhappy noise.

"What?" Natasha whispered, moving her hands to his hips.

He let out a huff before pulling away slightly. "It's been a long day," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I don't think I'm going to be any use to you." He poked at his dick, hanging limp between his legs.

Natasha slid her hands around his waist. "That's okay," she said, suppressing her disappointment. Seventy years old, and the Winter Soldier made her libido react like she was seventeen again.

The Winter Soldier shook his hair. "What I want is to get out of here," he growled, reaching for the shampoo bottle. "But that's not going to happen."

Natasha watched the Winter Soldier wash his hair. His metal arm moved easier now; with a good night's sleep, he would be in top form by the next day.

Instead of trying to find the words, Natasha rested her hands on the Winter Soldier's stomach and watched him in silence.

When his hair was clean, he picked up the soap and began running it over Natasha's skin. She leaned into his touch, the familiar weight of his metal hand on her hip keeping her still while his right hand slid the soap over her body.

It took her a few minutes to realize his true intent, when he'd slid the soap over her breast and was using his thumb to trace circles around her nipple. "I think it's clean," she whispered.

"Can't been too sure," he whispered back, kissing her forehead. "It's always best to do a thorough job."

Natasha shifted in place, arching her back a little. "How thorough?"

The Winter Soldier put the soap back on the ledge. "I do my best to ensure no complaints," he said as his hand slid down her belly.

"Good." Natasha took his hand and guided it lower. "You do have a reputation for completing everything you undertake."

She stopped talking as the Winter Soldier's hand slid between her legs. He growled against her hair as his fingers dipped inside her body. "Why are you so wet?" he whispered, twisting his hand. Natasha let out a moan as he rubbed her clit with slick fingers.

"You're naked and right here," she said breathlessly, biting her lip as the movement of his fingers quickened. "I can't help it."

He hummed as he bent his head to kiss her neck, sucking just at the spot she liked as his hand shifted, moving his fingers inside her while his thumb moved against her clit.

He knew what she liked, how she liked it, and in a matter of minutes, Natasha dug her fingernails into his back as her orgasm washed over her. She cried out as her body clenched around the Winter Soldier's fingers, still moving deep inside her.

He held her as her knees went weak. After a minute, he drew his hand from between her legs and rested it on her hip. Natasha breathed against his chest, the air humid in the spray of the shower as she reveled in the physical closeness. She never wanted this to end, but there was so much going on, this moment could not last forever.

When she reluctantly pulled away from him, he let her. "Good?" he asked.

Natasha nodded. "Thank you," she said with a slow smile, staring up at him. The heat from the shower had given his skin a pink glow, and his hair hung in wet strands around his face. He was beautiful; she wanted to pack up him and take him somewhere safe, where nothing could hurt either of them ever again.

He gave her a crooked half-smile and kissed her forehead again as he slumped against her in an embrace.

Natasha could feel the exhaustion in his body, knowing he was nearing the end of his strength. In battle, he could keep going for days, as could she, but it always hurt. Far better for him that he have a meal and a good sleep. He would be stronger for it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get dried off and eat. I don't want you getting sick."

"I never get sick," he said, but he allowed Natasha to turn off the shower and bundle him out. There were three towels between them, and Natasha let the Winter Soldier have the second one for his hair. Her braid had been soaked in the shower, but it would dry fast enough.

The security team had left the Winter Soldier with a change of clothing and he dressed in clean black trousers and a t-shirt. Natasha's clothing was in better shape, and she put her jeans and shirt back on, leaving her bra on the bathroom counter. She didn't mind the slight chill from the concrete walls; it felt like home.

In the little room, the Winter Soldier sat at the table and mechanically ate the food she'd brought him, sandwiches and salad. Natasha was hungry and finished eating before he did. While he crumbled the crust of his sandwich on his plate, Natasha pulled her hairbrush out of her bag and leaned against the Winter Soldier's chair to comb his hair.

The room was quiet. Natasha was lulled by the calm repetition of brushing the Winter Soldier's long hair. She hadn't been allowed dolls as a child, and the children had not been encouraged to play with each other's hair.

Long before that, Natasha had the faintest of memories of someone braiding her hair, someone big and soft and warm. Natasha didn't know if the woman had been her mother or her grandmother, but she remembered feeling cared for.

That had been a very long time ago.

The Winter Soldier stirred under her hands. "Come here," he said, and pulled Natasha around to sit on his lap. He unbraided her hair, untangling the wet strands with his fingers, up her back to her scalp. Silently, he took the brush from her hand and brushed out her hair. Natasha had never had another lover who did this; there would have been few people on earth who Natasha would trust this close to her in such an unguarded state.

"I'm sorry," the Winter Soldier said after a few minutes.

"About what?" Natasha asked.

"Were you watching the conversation I had with Sheppard?"

"Yes," Natasha said. It made sense now why he'd seated her facing away from him.

"Then you know what I mean."

Natasha sighed. She turned in the Winter Soldier's lap and took his hand, lowered it to her thigh. He tried to look away, but she caught his chin with her fingers. "I didn't think you knew that about John."

"That he's my son? Our child?" The Winter Soldier stared at her, unblinking. "I saw it in him when I went to find you, that time. When he was a boy."

"You did?" Natasha asked. As a young child, John hadn't looked much like his father; he had more resembled Natasha. When he grew older and his features matured into adulthood, the resemblance to his father had grown, although still only slightly.

"He looked like…" The Winter Soldier cleared his throat. "He looked like me when I looked in the mirror, that's all."

That wasn't what the Winter Soldier was going to say at all, but Natasha let it go for now. She didn't want to turn this into a confrontation while he was so tired. It could wait for another time.

The Winter Soldier ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. He blinked a few times before focusing on Natasha. "Natalia," he said in the voice of a man bracing for bad news. "I need to ask you something."

She was fairly sure what his question was, but she kept her face blank. "What is it?"

"Did you…" He swallowed, looked down at the brush in his hand. "When you were a child… Did anyone…"

"No one raped me," she said, watching the emotions pass over his face. "The matrons were always very careful about the children in the program."

"But someone in a position of authority—"

"Would have ended up with my knife in his eye," Natasha said firmly.

"The file said—"

"Think of who brought that file here, and why," Natasha said. She linked her fingers behind the Winter Soldier's neck. "General Mikhailov would do anything to see you dead. You're the last link to everything he did in the Red Room."

"Except you."

"I have protection," Natasha pointed out. "For what it's worth, I have SHIELD."

"And I have nothing."

Natasha squeezed the back of his neck gently. "You have me. You always have me."

The Winter Soldier looked up at the ceiling. His eyes were red and Natasha could pretend that she didn't see the tears he was blinking away.

"Are you all right with the rest of the day?" Natasha asked. "Everything with Steve?"

The Winter Soldier rolled his eyes. "Why do you follow that guy? He's a jerk."

Natasha slapped the Winter Soldier's shoulder. "I don't follow him. I work _with_ him. There is a difference."

"He's still an asshole."

"He's a smart man, a good leader," Natasha said. The Winter Soldier clenched his jaw as she spoke. "And yes, he's brave and handsome and a good man."

She stood up, taking the brush from the Winter Soldier's hand and put it on the table, shaking her hair out over her shoulders.

"Sounds perfect," the Winter Soldier said angrily.

"Do you know the fundamental difference between the two of you?" Natasha asked.

"An inch and a half?" The Winter Soldier snapped his fingers before Natasha could figure out what he meant. "Oh wait. He's free to leave anytime he wants."

Natasha stood in front of the Winter Soldier's chair. She took his hand and pulled at him until he stood up, then she took a step closer, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"If the situation had been reversed, and it was him I'd met that day in the compound when I was nine, Steve would have saved me," Natasha said. The Winter Soldier's blue eyes were wide and he was bracing for something, she could tell.

She reached up and ran her fingers over his chin, the days' growth of beard prickling against the pad of her thumb.

"You taught me how to save myself," Natasha went on. "And because of that, I'm still here. All these years later, I'm still here."

The Winter Soldier pulled her against him in a tight embrace, breathing hard against her hair. Natasha held him and stroked his back until the worst of the tension had left him.

"I would do anything for you," he whispered after a while, his voice slurring in exhaustion. "Anything at all."

Natasha kissed him gently before guiding him over to the bed. "I know," she said as she sat him down. "Now sleep. I'll keep watch tonight; nothing will come for you here."

"I have to read that thing they gave me," he protested half-heartedly as he slipped out of his trousers.

"On Isis?" Natasha asked, helping him pull back the sheet covers. "It's simple. She was a murderous alien who experimented on human children for her own gain. We will find her and stop her."

The Winter Soldier lay down, pulling the sheet up to his chest. "There has to be more to it than that," he said.

"Sleep," Natasha said. She ran her hand over his brow, his eyes closing at her touch. "You'll be sharper in the morning."

"Is that an order?" he mumbled.

"It is." Natasha leaned over and kissed his forehead. "And I'm older than you now so you have to listen to me."

He smiled and closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he roused himself. "Natalia?"

"Yes?"

He took her hand in his and twined their fingers together. "These things they say about me."

"Yes?" she prompted when he fell quiet again.

"It's just…" With a painful sigh, the Winter Soldier sat up in bed. He pushed his hair back from his face. "What they say my name is…"

Natasha put her hand on his cheek. "It is going to be a very cold day before I call you Bucky," she said.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "That's not what I mean. It's just… could you…"

"What do you want me to call you?" Natasha asked. The moment was quiet and dreamily unreal, him and her together in this place.

He met Natasha's gaze with tired eyes. "I want to know what it's like if you call me James."

Natasha pushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "James," she said quietly. The name felt foreign in her mouth, but not uncomfortable. "James," she tried again, letting the open vowel vibrate in the back of her throat, her lips closing on the _em_ , the end sibilant soft in her ears.

The Winter Soldier caught her hand in his and kissed her palm, his eyes never leaving her face.

"And now, you sleep," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and pulling him down to the bed. "Driving yourself to exhaustion, it's stupid."

He let her pull the blankets up to his chest, turning on his side so his metal arm was propped up on his hip. Natasha stroked his hair until his eyes closed, until his metal fingers relaxed.

Finally, he slept.

Quietly, Natasha slid off the bed and tidied the room, stacking the dishes and folding the man's discarded clothing. With one last glance around the room, she picked up her knife from the dresser and put it beside the empty pillow. Turning off the overhead light, she propped open the bathroom door to let a little light into the room. Only then did she strip down to her t-shirt and panties and climb into the bed at the Winter Soldier's side, careful not to jostle him as she relaxed into the mattress.

The Winter Soldier never stirred.

Making sure her knife was on the night stand, Natasha snuggled under the covers, feeling the Winter Soldier's body heat warm at her back. She let her body settle into a state of steady alertness that would get her through the night. She would wake at the lightest sound, and if anyone came for the Winter Soldier in the night, she would be ready for them.

Not that she expected it, given her son's assurances, but she'd told the Winter Soldier she would keep watch, and so she would.

* * *

Natasha was jerked from a light doze by the voice. Not anything coherent, just garbled words in German and Russian. Blinking her way fully awake, she rolled over. The Winter Soldier was talking in his sleep, clenching his right fist as his feet twitched under the covers.

A nightmare, and a bad one. His voice was growing louder, and past experience told Natasha that she only had a few moments to take action.

Quickly, she threw her knife out of his reach and dove out of the bed. The movement on the mattress pulled the Winter Soldier awake with a shout, clawing at the sheets and going up on his knees.

When he looked at Natasha, he didn't know her.

"It's Natalia," Natasha said softly, hands held out, unthreatening. She had a clear line of sight to him, in case he was so caught up in his nightmare that he attacked her.

He hadn't done so in years, but Natasha didn't want to risk a black eye or broken arm in fending off an attack.

"I'm Natalia and you're in America," she said. "Soldier, do you understand?"

For a long moment, everything was frozen. Then his expression changed almost comically slow, from rage and terror to horrified realization. He slumped over, holding his head in his hands.

Natasha inched across the room to the bed. The Winter Soldier was rocking back and forth, making soft keening noises, the sort a person makes when they've been pushed beyond reason, beyond all limits. Carefully, she laid her hand on his shoulder, but he didn't react to her touch. Sitting next to him, she rubbed his back and whispered comforting nonsense in his ear.

After a minute, his voice broke and the keening stopped, but he breathed hard, in choking gasps. Natasha put her arm over his shoulders; he hesitated only a moment before turning in her embrace, his arms going around her in a bear hug, bruising tight.

She didn't tell him that it was only a nightmare, or that everything would be all right. She'd woken from too many nightmares of her own to believe either of those lies. Instead, she let him cling to her as she sang some silly Russian lullaby she remembered from the fog of her childhood. She could only remember one verse and probably got half the words wrong, but it gave him the time to come back to himself from the terrors.

Gradually, his grip on her loosened, his breathing calmed. After another few minutes, he pulled away from her.

"Better?" Natasha asked.

"No," he said, not looking at her. With a grunt, he heaved himself to his feet and staggered over to the bathroom. Through the open door, Natasha watched him splash water on his face.

Natasha went to retrieve her knife, returning it to the side table before straightening the blankets. She climbed back into the bed before the Winter Soldier left the bathroom.

He came out after a few minutes, the front of his t-shirt wet. He sat on the edge of the bed, but made no move to slide under the covers.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" he asked, and there was an edge to his voice that Natasha didn't quite understand.

Normally, if he felt like talking about something, he would do so unprompted. But then, nothing about this night was normal.

Wishing she knew what was going on in the man's head, Natasha rolled onto her side and asked obligingly, "Will you tell me about your nightmare?"

The Winter Soldier let out a long, heavy breath. "Azerbaijan," he said shortly. "It was before your time. It was…" He swallowed, nearly gagged. He put his hand over his mouth and sat still, breathing hard through his nose.

Natasha pressed her hand against his back, wishing she could do something to help. But it was futile; trying to fight the past like it was a living thing.

The Winter Soldier cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure they tried to take that whole bloodbath out of my head, but sometimes I get bits and pieces, you know?"

"I do," Natasha said, knowing deep in her bones the frustration and futility of half-remembered missions, how the ghosts reached up from the past to choke you in your sleep.

The Winter Soldier turned around, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

Natasha reached for her watch on the side table. "Just after two."

"What time will they come for us in the morning?" the Winter Soldier asked as he pulled his wet t-shirt over his head.

"I didn't ask. Yesterday it was eight o'clock."

"These Americans do like to get a late start, don't they?" The Winter Soldier slipped under the blankets and curled around Natasha, his skin chilled.

"All the more sleep for me," Natasha murmured, shifting in his arms to get comfortable.

"I like it when you sleep," the Winter Soldier said, his right hand slipping under her t-shirt to lay flat against her stomach.

"You like to cuddle," Natasha corrected him.

"How could anyone lie next to you and not want to be close to you?" the Winter Soldier whispered, kissing the small hollow behind her ear.

Natasha pushed away the voice of memory in her head, of all the men and women she'd been ordered to seduce. Of all those lovers, the Winter Soldier had been one of the few she'd wanted to return to.

Even her first time, with the Winter Soldier, had been under orders. That she'd wanted to obey that order didn't take away the fact.

So many orders, so many years.

The Winter Soldier kissed Natasha's neck, over and over. Natasha knew this pattern of behavior; after emotional trauma, the Winter Soldier needed physical reassurance, but he never wanted something so overt as to be comforted by her. He would hold her, kiss and caress her as if she was the one who needed comforting. It calmed him, lowering his heart rate and slowing his breathing, usually enough to let him find sleep again after a nightmare, so Natasha never called him on it.

"Do you think John is right?" she asked after a few minutes. "That I'm your fail-safe?"

The Winter Soldier breathed against her hair. "I want to say no. But…"

"Do you remember the first time I beat you in the training ring?" she asked, turning in his arms to look at him. He nodded. Natasha touched his cheek, wishing she could lose herself in his beautiful eyes. "After that, the commandant and the doctors were congratulating themselves and I never understood why. I thought it might have been because my skills were improving, but…"

"But what if they were congratulating themselves on giving Little Red Riding Hood teeth against the big bad wolf?"

"I never liked that story," Natasha said. She combed her fingers through his hair, savoring the sensation. "Little Red Cap was eaten by the wolf and the hunter had to save her."

"Who would you rather be? The hunter?"

"When I was young, I wanted to be Vasilisa," Natasha said. "The girl who gets help from Baba Yaga and saves herself," she explained at his blank look.

"Baba Yaga, the old witch?"

"Yes." Natasha kissed his shoulder, just above the metal plating. "After a few years, I just decided that I was going to fix everything and be Baba Yaga myself."

"You're certainly old enough for it," the Winter Soldier said under his breath.

She poked him in the belly, and was rewarded by the ghost of a smile. "Go to sleep," she said. "It'll be morning soon."

"Not soon enough," the Winter Soldier said, but he closed his eyes and curled his arm tighter around her, keeping her pressed against him.

"I'll be here when you wake up," Natasha said, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly.

"Good," he said against her hair, his body heavy on hers.

In spite of his exhaustion, it took him a while to fall back to sleep. Natasha could feel it when his breathing finally eased, when his metal arm relaxed.

Natasha lay awake longer, thinking too hard to sleep. John had said something about another piece of evidence coming in the next day. Natasha had no clue as to what that might be, and it worried her.

On the face of it, the situation against the Winter Soldier was dire. With the Department X records, the American military rumors, and his actions at Area 51, even his connection with James Buchanan Barnes might not be enough to save him.

James, Natasha said silently, letting her mouth grow used to the name. It suited the man in bed with her, an old name, the name of a good man. She could call him that, if he wanted her to. She would ask him in the morning.

The room as quiet and she was so warm, the Winter Soldier sprawled on top of her. Natasha closed her eyes, telling herself that she could figure out the rest in the morning.

* * *

She was woken by the not-disagreeable sensation of the Winter Soldier's hand cupping her breast under her shirt.

"Hrm?" She opened her eyes as the Winter Soldier shifted against her, his body keeping her warm.

And, she noted, his morning erection was pressing against her thigh.

"Did I wake you up?" the Winter Soldier asked, totally unrepentant.

"No, I'm still asleep."

"That's too bad, I wouldn't want you to miss any of this," he said, pushing her shirt up to expose her breast.

"What better way to wake up?" Natasha asked, biting her lip as the Winter Soldier licked a line up her breast to her nipple.

He shifted fully on top of her, hands and lips on her breasts and oh that tongue, doing just what she liked. She reached for her watch to check the time. Just after five o'clock.

"Are we running late?" the Winter Soldier asked, resting his chin between her breasts. The stubble of his days-old beard prickled pleasantly against her skin.

"Just seeing how long we have," she said, putting the watch back before looking down at the Winter Soldier. "How thorough can you be in under an hour?"

He moved up her body, sliding his hand through her hair and kissing her firmly. "How thorough do you want me to be?" he asked after he broke for air.

Natasha wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing her thighs until his eyes unfocused. "How about we opt for more efficiency than creativity?" she murmured.

"There is something to be said for artistry in everything," he chided gently, kissing her again. He knew what she liked, slow deep kisses, tiny smooches at the corner of her mouth, the soft flick of his tongue against hers.

He also knew how to touch her, running his hands down her sides, cupping her behind, stroking her thighs. When he finally moved his hands between her legs, she was more than ready for him.

Kissing her neck, he slid his fingers between her slick folds, up to her clit, rubbing circles on that sensitive spot. Natasha moved her hips to match his movements, eyes closing as the delicious tension started to build in her body.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured softly. "The most beautiful woman I've ever known."

Natasha smiled. "In general or just when I'm in your bed?" she teased.

"Always," he growled, kissing her hard. She couldn't help pressing her hips up, against his erection. He gasped into her mouth.

She caught his hand, pulling it from between them. "My turn," she murmured, sucking his fingers into her mouth.

His eyes grew dark as Natasha ran her tongue over his fingers, tasting herself on his skin. "Your turn for what?"

Smiling again, Natasha pushed him over onto his back. "I want you to think about that really hard," she said, then bent over to take his cock in her mouth.

His choked groan sounded loud in the room. She slid her tongue over the tip of his cock, circling it before opening her mouth and easing him inside, over her tongue. He reached down to slide his hand into her hair, cupped the back of her head as his hips canted up.

She knew him, what he liked, knew how to take him inside her mouth. Putting one hand on his thigh and the other on the bed, she let him slide out, before dipping her head again slowly.

Once more, going almost too deep and hearing him swear under his breath, and Natasha pulled back, sliding him out of her mouth, tongue playing along the underside of his cock.

He stared up at her, breathing hard. With a smile, Natasha slowly kissed up his chest, his throat, the corner of his mouth. "I want you inside me," she whispered, nipping at his neck, just over the scar where she'd shot him so many decades before.

His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "I'll do anything you want," he said in a rough voice, his eyes wide.

Natasha slipped off him, rolling onto her back. The Winter Soldier sat up and knelt between her legs, his hands gently grasping the backs of her thighs and pulling her closer to him on the bed. He lowered himself on top of her, using one hand to carefully ease himself in.

She was ready for him, wanted him, wanted _this_ , his hard length filling her up just the way she liked, hard and deep and warm inside her. She moaned softly at the sensation, her arms going around the Winter Soldier's back.

"So beautiful," the Winter Soldier murmured against her throat, as he pulled out slowly and pushed back into her.

Natasha buried one hand in his hair, the other hand feeling the flex of his back muscles he moved. "I missed you so much," she whispered, kissing his temple.

With a groan, he went still for a moment, so deep, closer to her than any man had been in so long. She exhaled as he started moving again, angling his hips so he could move faster than before. "I never want this to end."

"Good luck," Natasha said with a smile, moving her hips in time with him, matching him thrust for thrust. "I bet I can make you come."

Before he could come up with an answer, she tightened her legs around his waist and clenched her internal muscles around him. He bit out an oath and nearly lost his rhythm.

"You fight dirty," he gasped, pulling her right knee up and against her body, her leg over his shoulder.

"I like to win." She lowered her other leg down his side, shifting so that every thrust of his body pressed against her clit, pushing her closer and closer to climax.

He lifted his head, opening his eyes for just a moment to look at her, before kissing her hard, open and deep and wet. Natasha kissed him back, enjoying the soft noises he made into her mouth, the feeling of being so close to another human being, intimate and defenseless; so very safe.

His movements took on an increased urgency, and with one sudden push, the orgasm crashed over her. She rode the crest of her climax, the Winter Soldier still thrusting inside of her.

With a final sharp groan, the Winter Soldier shuddered against her, his arms going tight around her. Natasha smiled to herself as he collapsed heavily on her, spent.

They lay in each others' embrace for some minutes, until the man's weight started to restrict her breathing. She nudged at his shoulder until he took the hint and rolled off her.

"You know," he said, sprawled on his back, "If that's losing, I never want to win."

Natasha shifted onto her side so she could look at the man. "For someone who's got the full weight of the U.S. Military hanging over his head, you seem unconcerned."

"Not unconcerned," the Winter Soldier said, smiling absently as he reached out to cup her breast. "Just focused on current priorities."

Natasha slid her leg over his, enjoying the sensation of skin on skin. "Men," she said fondly. "So single minded."

"This man is," the Winter Soldier said.

Natasha kissed him gently. "I take it this means you had enough sleep."

"More than in a long time." He kissed her again, then sat up. "You know what it's like in unfamiliar places."

She did. Never knowing what was safe, needing to stay alert in the field, was not conducive to a deep sleep.

The Winter Soldier swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I need another shower."

"Okay," Natasha said, distracted by the movement of his bare behind as he stood.

"And I need to shave," he went on, glancing over his shoulder. "Do you have a razor?"

Natasha picked up her knife off the bedside table and handed it to him handle-first. "This should do."

He took the knife from her hand, unsheathed it and held the blade to the light. "You always did have the nicest toys."

She got out of bed, went up on her toes against his body. "It's not the toys you have, it's how you handle them," she whispered in his ear, before slapping him on the bum as she went into the bathroom.

* * *

The tap at the door came as Natasha was lacing up her boots. "Yes?" Natasha called, raising her eyebrows at the Winter Soldier. The man's face was grim.

"This is your wake-up call, ma'am," came an unfamiliar voice.

Natasha went over to the door and opened it. In the hallway stood two security guards, one of them a dozen steps behind the other.

"We're awake," Natasha said.

The security guard nearest the door straightened his shoulders. "Then can I escort you to the commissary?"

"I will remain with the Winter Soldier," Natasha said without pause.

The security guard frowned, and made a little motion with his hand. "Yeah, in the commissary."

"You're going to let me run around the base?" the Winter Soldier asked over Natasha's shoulder.

"Actually, we'd prefer it if you walked," the guard said. Behind him, his partner rolled his eyes.

Natasha looked at the Winter Soldier. He gave her a brief nod, and together they exited the room.

No one attacked; the guards didn't draw their weapons. It felt surreal, walking through an American military compound with the Winter Soldier unrestrained at her side.

The commissary was half-empty. When no one moved to stop him, the Winter Soldier went over to the counter and grabbed a tray.

Natasha looked at the guards, but they hung back and didn't interfere as Natasha joined the Winter Soldier. "Are you planning an overland hike?" she asked as the Winter Soldier put a plateful of pancakes next to another of eggs and bacon.

"If I have to deal with goddamn Steve Rogers again today, I need this," the Winter Soldier said, keeping his comments in English for the security team.

Natasha sighed. "He really isn't that bad."

"He's a dick." The Winter Soldier tossed two tea bags into a mug before filling it with hot water and setting it on his tray.

"He's not the one you need to worry about," Natasha reminded him. "Colonel Sheppard still hasn't made up his mind about what to do with you."

"I don't care at this point," said the Winter Soldier, carrying his tray over to a table by the far wall. "I'm done jumping through Sheppard's hoops. He can find something else to entertain him."

Natasha sat the Winter Soldier's side, their backs to the wall. "Try saying that again," she suggested. "I almost believed you."

The Winter Soldier shot her a dark look before digging into his stack of pancakes. Natasha ate eggs off the other plate, keeping an eye on the security guards, who were now seated at the table between them and the door.

The rest of the commissary provided a fascinating experiment in observation. A few of the soldiers by the far wall were watching the Winter Soldier surreptitiously, while a scientist by the door was reading a printout, oblivious.

The Winter Soldier finished half the pancakes, then slid the plate in front of Natasha. "Eat," he ordered.

Obligingly, Natasha took a bite. The Winter Soldier had used so much syrup that the cakes were nearly inediblely sweet. But then, he'd always had a sweet tooth.

"What do you want me to call you?" she asked quietly, as the Winter Soldier reached for a jam packet.

"What do you mean?"

"Today," Natasha clarified. The previous night, she had called him James at his own urging, but that had been a different time and a place. That had been just between them.

He shrugged, trying to appear casual as he ripped the cover off the jam. "I trust your discretion," he said. He would not meet her eyes.

Natasha said no more, instead raising her eyebrows as he spooned half the jam into his mouth, then knocked back some of his strong tea. She hadn't seen anyone drink tea like that in decades.

The commissary door opened and in came Rodney McKay. He was halfway to the coffee station when he spotted the Winter Soldier, and he froze.

The Winter Soldier continued to shovel eggs into his mouth, looking unblinkingly at McKay the whole time.

"What?" McKay said, looking around frantically. "Why isn't he in restraints or something?"

One of the guards shrugged. "Colonel Sheppard said it was okay."

"Would you care to join us?" Natasha asked politely.

With another frantic look around the room, McKay walked reluctantly over to their table. "Um," he said, sitting across from Natasha. "Hi."

"Have you made any progress in finding the database?" Natasha asked. The Winter Soldier leaned back and sipped his tea.

"No, but we've fixed the disaster at Area 51," McKay said grudgingly. "That could have been a lot worse. If the code had gotten into the environmental system, it could have triggered an explosion that would have wiped the base off the map."

"That is good to hear," Natasha said.

McKay took his attention off the Winter Soldier. "So what's the deal with you?" he asked Natasha.

"How do you mean?"

"It's just…." McKay shifted in his seat. "John's mother died in 1973. How are you even real?"

Natasha set her hands on the table and looked steadily at the man. "That's classified," she said.

McKay stood up with a huff. "Are you really Russian?"

Natasha just smiled, and McKay stormed off, after making a quick detour past the coffee station. "That man is the smartest guy they've got?" the Winter Soldier asked.

"That's what John said." Natasha sat back in her seat.

"It's times like these that I wonder why we lost the Cold War."

Natasha shook her head. "You know why," she said, getting to her feet. "Do you want more tea?"

He held out his cup, and she returned in a few minutes with his tea and coffee for herself. "Do we just sit here until the lunch crowd arrives?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Boring." Slowly, he stood. The guards went instantly alert, but didn't move to restrain the man as he went to a nearby table to gather an abandoned newspaper, then brought it back over to his seat.

Natasha did the crossword in her head while the Winter Soldier read about international politics through the American viewpoint. He interrupted her once to show her an article about a low-scale riot in Spain, then went back to his reading.

After about thirty minutes of this, the security guards stood. "If you'll come with us," one of them said.

The Winter Soldier drained the last of his tea and got to his feet. "After you."

It didn't go quite like that, of course, but in due course the security guards showed Natasha and the Winter Soldier into the big briefing room. John was already seated at the table, looking exhausted. Steve stood by the window, looking down into the Gateroom.

"Gentlemen," Natasha said, keeping her tone at a pleasant level.

"Hey," John said, slouching back in his chair. "How are things?"

Well," Natasha said. She couldn't help herself; she went over and laid her hand on her son's shoulder. He looked up at her, and in spite of his exhaustion, he smiled at her.

The Winter Soldier sauntered over to the window, as far from Steve as possible. He looked down at the Stargate. "What's that thing supposed to do?" he asked.

"It creates a stable wormhole to the other end of space," Steve said. The Winter Soldier gave him a look. "Yeah, it's a little out of my league," Steve admitted.

"Why do you have it in an old missile silo?" the Winter Soldier asked John.

"The rent's cheap," John said. "Also, we're on bedrock and away from fault lines, so it's all good. Sit down."

With one final look at the Stargate, the Winter Soldier crossed the room and sat at the table across from John.

Once Steve was seated, John tapped his table and the display on the wall lit up. "Funny thing happened when we reviewed the files from the Pentagon on you, Sgt. Barnes," John said. "It turns out that last October, the files of the American members of the Howling Commandos were requested at the Boston military archives by one of the archivists."

The Winter Soldier shifted in his seat, lifting metal fingers to touch his lips. "So?"

Natasha knew that gesture; it was his tell. He was desperately trying to come up with a plan, and she didn't know why.

What was going on?

John swiped the tablet, and a picture appeared on the far wall. It showed the Winter Soldier seated at a table, with his hair grown down over his ears; he was wearing modern clothes.

With another tap, the picture turned into grainy surveillance video.

"This guy here talks his way into the archives, claims he's the grandson of Sgt. James Barnes, one of the Howling Commandos," John said, as on the screen the Winter Soldier sat at a table, reading through a paper file. "He smiled his way right into the archives and got the archivist to pull the Howling Commando records even though there was a big red warning sign on the files. Do you want to guess why the archivist didn't question the man's story?"

The Winter Soldier stared at John, his jaw clenched. He didn't say a word.

"It was because the guy knew just so darn much about them before he'd seen anything in the files," John went on. "And the kicker was that he asked the archivist if she didn't agree that he looked like his grandfather, you know?"

Steve was looking between John and the Winter Soldier, astonished. "What are you saying, Colonel?"

John tilted his head at the surveillance footage. In it, the Winter Soldier looked up from the papers, using his hand to shield his face from the archivist in the corner. In spite of the grainy footage, his expression was clear.

He was trying to hold back tears.

"I'm saying that Sgt. Barnes here walked into the Archive in Boston knowing exactly what he was going to find in the Howling Commando files." John touched the tablet, and the screen went black. "Barnes, here's the deal. I've read the files the Russians have on you. I also looked at the rumour mill the CIA and Interpol have on the Winter Soldier going back to the fifties. One of your old friends also had a few things to say," and John glanced over at Natasha for a moment. "Anyway, I'm done with that. I'm about to give you one last chance."

The Winter Soldier glared at John, his hands clenched. "What are you talking about?"

"No more games, none of this Cold War bullshit. This is it." John leaned back in his chair,. "How much of your life as James Barnes do you remember?"

There was a long, horrible silence. Then the Winter Soldier looked away from John. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Some of it," he said quietly, the admission falling like a knife point into the room. "Not all of it. But some."

"What?" Steve exclaimed, half-standing, but John gestured him down with sudden authority. "What the hell is this?"

Natasha took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clenching her hands under the table.

The Winter Soldier remembered his past.

He had lied to her.

"Later, Captain Rogers," John was saying sharply. He turned back to the Winter Soldier. "When did it start to come back?"

The Winter Soldier stared at a spot two feet above John's head. "After I broke out of my stasis pod in Russia, in August. Not all at once. Bits here and there."

"And since that time, have you killed anyone?"

The Winter Soldier's gaze snapped down. "No," he said in annoyance.

"Overthrown any government?" John went on, and oh, he was enjoying this. "Taken part in any abductions, insurrections?"

"Colonel—" Steve tried, but John shook his head.

"Given the review of your file since your 'death'," John said, complete with finger quotes, "And the Soviet files that contain copious details of your programming, Stargate Command has come to a decision about what to do with you in the short-term."

John pulled the slim folder at his side over, tapping its non-descript cover.

"This Isis thing needs everyone on board. We've developed protocols over the last couple of decades about what to do with soldiers who have been through brainwashing and mental programming. According to the doctors who looked through your files, you fit the profile."

John pushed the folder across the table, then reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of metal at the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier caught it without looking, unfolding his hand to reveal a tangle of chain and two modern American dog tags.

John smiled. "Congratulations, Sgt. Barnes. You've just been recalled to active duty with the U.S. Army, Stargate Command division."

_To be continued_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liner Notes:
> 
>   * [Baba Yaga and Vasilisa](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasilisa_the_Beautiful)
>   * [Little Red Cap](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm026.html)
>   * [Tea and jam is a thing, guys.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_tea_culture)
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> Hey guys check this out: [Riana-One](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/) made some really neat photo montages for chapters 5-9 of Widow Maker - I highly recommend that you go look at them :D
> 
> [Chapter 5](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/post/57647920220/they-made-it-across-the-ramp-and-to-the-southwest)  
> [Chapter 6](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/post/57915359717/what-is-your-designation-comrade-she-asked-the)  
> [Chapter 7](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/post/58347671818/there-was-a-long-silence-they-did-this-to-you)  
> [Chapter 8](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/post/58526966597/steve-let-out-a-breath-what-the-hell-am-i-going)  
> [Chapter 9](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/post/58991447512/natasha-looked-at-the-winter-soldier-who-was-now)
> 
>  
> 
> And if you're not on Tumblr, I am! Drop on by <http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/> for funtiems


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

The Winter Soldier let the dog tags in his hand slip to the table. "This isn't fucking funny," he snapped.

"Who's being funny?" John retorted. "You were declared missing in action, presumed dead. We know now that you're not dead, so it's either this or we charge you with colluding with the enemy."

"Colonel, this is crazy!" Steve interrupted. He was staring at the Winter Soldier... no, Natasha corrected herself, feeling lightheaded. Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. "Bucky, you remember who you are?" Steve's voice broke on the last word.

Sgt. Barnes ignored Steve's question. He pushed the dog tags to the side and opened the folder. "Did O'Neill actually agree to this?" he asked John.

"His signature's at the bottom of that page, isn't it?" John slid a pen across the table. "Sign it."

Natasha pressed her lips together, trying to remember how to breathe. "What is he signing?" she asked John.

"That he understands that under the terms of his enlistment back in the forties, he's still subject to the rules and regulations of the United States Armed Forces," John said, directing his words at Natasha and Steve. "There's also a confidentiality agreement in there about Stargate Command and aliens and stuff."

"And if I don't play by your rules, all that much easier for you to court-martial me?" Sgt. Barnes asked, his eyebrows going up.

"A court-martial is usually quicker than war crimes proceedings," John pointed out.

"How the hell did you talk your generals into this one?" Sgt. Barnes asked as he reached for the pen.

"It was the least bad of a whole pile of bad ideas," John said. "Trust me, the lunacy of this scenario has been pointed out to me by multiple people." He leaned over to take the paper from Sgt. Barnes, Bucky, James, whoever the hell this man was. "And Sergeant? It's 'sir'."

James' mouth twitched into a smile that was mostly grimace. "Of course, Colonel Sheppard, _sir_."

Steve stood up abruptly. He walked across the room to the Stargate window, fairly vibrating with emotion. Natasha had spent over a year working with Steve and she knew how he moved, how he reacted.

He was furious.

James pulled the chain over his head and tucked the dog tags under his black over-shirt. "Can I get my uniform back?" he asked.

"Nope." John stood, gathering his tablet and files. "We're going to have a briefing here on the Isis situation in about twenty minutes, then you need to pass a lie-detector test with the shrinks before we clear you to go any further."

"A lie detector?" the man repeated. He appeared unconcerned, but then, why would it bother him? He'd been able to control his physical reactions since before Natasha had met him; he was the one who had taught her how to manipulate such tests.

"Alien lie detector," John corrected. "Don't even try to beat it; it reads brainwaves, not physical reactions." He glanced at Steve and Natasha. "Anyway, I'm going to let you guys sort things out. There are guards outside if you need anything. Back in twenty."

The painful silence lingered after John stepped through the door.

Natasha leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You've known about your past since you broke out of stasis last year?" she asked.

His glare was not friendly. "It's none of your concern," he said in Russian.

"Not my concern?" Natasha retorted in kind, anger rising in her chest. "You lied to me—"

"Don't even begin to tell me how I lied to you!" James exclaimed. "For years, you lied to me, so don't sit there and pretend you're the victim today!"

"What are you talking about?"

James gestured at the door where John had vanished. "For more than forty years, you never tell me that I have a _son_ ," he spat. "What else are you lying to me about? What parts of my past are you still keeping from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything from you," Natasha told him.

"How can I trust anything you say to me?" James demanded. "You lie to me with your words, you lie to me with your body—"

"I have never done anything like that with you!" Natasha exclaimed, clenching her hands into fists.

James spread his hands, his eyes wide. "You said it yourself, Natalia, if you're meant to be my failsafe, how much of what was between us was real?" he demanded. "When you told me you loved me, was that real? When you let me fuck you anyway I wanted, was that real?" He tilted his head to the side. "How much of my mind do you think Department X had to rip apart to make believe that I actually loved you?"

Natasha couldn't move. For a long, horrible moment, she thought she might vomit. For nearly sixty years, she'd never questioned that the Winter Soldier cared for her. Maybe it wasn't love like she felt for him, but it had been real.

It must have been real, right?

If what he felt for her wasn't real, how could he have made love to her like he had that morning? If it wasn't how he truly felt, why had he risked everything to find her in New York?

Slowly, Natasha stood up. She felt like a broken old woman as she rounded the table to James' side. He watched her warily, his jaw set, ready for an attack.

Natasha put her hand on the back of his chair and leaned into his personal space. "If that's really what you think about me," Natasha said in English, never breaking eye contact with the man, "Then you don't need to call me Natalia anymore."

His breath caught and he opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha was finished. She didn't think she could survive any more of his hurtful words ripping her to shreds. She went over to the chair furthest from James and sat, looking out the window at the Stargate.

She was Natalia Alinova Romanova, the Black Widow, and she would not let this man see her cry.

After a few moments, Steve moved back to the table and stared at James. "You've known who you are for a year," he said flatly.

James swung around and smiled humorlessly at Steve. "August, actually."

"August. You knew who you were, who I was, _where_ I was, and you never tried to find me?"

"What was to find?" James asked. "Like I told Sheppard, it came back in bits and pieces. What makes you think you're important enough for me to remember?"

"When did you remember me?" Steve asked. "About growing up? About _who you are_?"

"What does it matter?" James demanded. "And remember what about you? The punk-ass kid who kept getting into fights he couldn't win?" James stood up, facing off against Steve. "Or the super-soldier in blue tights who took a break from show business to crash a HYDRA party?" His expression changed, cold and hard. "Or maybe I wasn't too keen to remember the guy who let me fall off a train in Europe."

Steve went dead white. "I didn't let you fall!" he said, as horrified as Natasha had ever heard him. "I tried to grab you but you fell too quickly—"

"With your reflexes?" James spat, going around the table to get in Steve's face. "You could have caught me if you'd wanted to. I figure you were sick of having a constant reminder around of what a pathetic little nothing you used to be before the serum, and you just decided, what the hell? No one was around. Let the bastard fall."

Steve grabbed James' shirt with both hands and hauled the other man toward him. James didn't make a single move to defend himself. "If that's what you think, then you don't know anything!" Steve exclaimed. "You've been my best friend since I was a kid, I would do anything for you, do you get that? Anything! I tried to save you on that train!"

James looked at Steve, his arms hanging loose at his sides. "I guess you just didn't try hard enough, did you?"

Steve let go of James' shirt abruptly. The man stumbled back a step before he recovered.

"The Bucky Barnes I knew would never have thought that," Steve said, so pale he looked sick.

James shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "Maybe the Bucky Barnes you knew really did die at the bottom of that ravine."

Steve's jaw clenched. He was closer to tears than Natasha had ever seen him. "Maybe he did."

Whatever James might have said next was stopped by the sound of footsteps on the stairs from the level below. A moment later, Vala Mal Doran appeared on the landing. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "But they can hear what you're saying, downstairs." She pointed at the floor below. "In case you care."

"It doesn't matter," Steve said. "I've got nothing left to say."

Vala took a look around the room, at Steve and Natasha, then back to James. "This looks cheerful," she observed.

James shook his head and stalked over to the window. Vala slipped across the room, to the chair at Natasha's side. "Hello."

Natasha just looked at her.

"McKay's been going around complaining that you don't make any sense," Vala said. "Well, not 'around', around. Just to Sheppard. But Teal'c was there too."

Natasha bit down on a curse. She could have to have a word with her son. Friend of his or not, she could not have someone like Rodney McKay making noise about her in a place like this.

"McKay said you're too old to look this young," Vala went on. "But you'd have to be, to be Sheppard's mother."

"You're not wrong," Natasha said, pulling her legs up to her chest. If she didn't think about it, she could almost forget the hurt of James' words.

Vala turned her attention to Steve. "Daniel pulled up one of your old films, so I know how old you are," she said. She looked over at James. "What about you?"

James crossed his arms over his chest. "What about me?"

"Sheppard says you grew up with Rogers."

James shrugged. "Whatever. I'm not like them."

"Not like them how?" Vala stood and went over to him.

"Stevie-boy here got super-soldiered through the benefit of science," James said. "All kinds of newsprint on that one."

"I know, McKay talked about that too," Vala said. "But if you're not like that, why are you as old as he is, and look so young?"

James lifted his head with a hint of defiance. "Just luck, I guess."

Vala stared at him for longer than seemed natural. After a minute, she held out her hand, palm up. "Give me your hand."

He didn't move. "Normally, a girl's got to buy me dinner before I put out like that."

Vala pouted just a little. "Please?"

Rolling his eyes, James unfolded his arms and put his right hand on Vala's. "Now what? Do we dance?"

Vala held the man's hand for a few moments, then dropped it with a frown. "He's not a Goa'uld," Natasha said from her chair. "If he was Isis, do you think he'd have let himself be caught?"

"Wait, you thought I was an alien?" James demanded.

"I had to be sure," Vala said. "You know how it is."

"If he was a Goa'uld, I'd have mentioned it to someone," Natasha said.

"So if you're not a super-soldier or a Goa'uld, what are you?" Vala asked James.

He didn't even try to hide his weariness. "I'm just some guy who spent a lot of time on the ice."

"There's got to be more to it than that," Vala said. "Otherwise, why would they bring you into the SGC?"

"Relevant skill set," came a voice from the door. Jack O'Neill stepped inside the room, Teal'c and Daniel Jackson behind him. At the General's entrance, both Steve and James straightened to attention.

Natasha stayed in her chair. 

Jack walked around the room, hands in his pockets. He stopped about ten feet from James and just looked at the man. James stared at a spot over the General's head, still at attention. Natasha knew his expression; it had meant the same thing in the Winter Soldier: he was expecting some form of punishment, some pain or humiliation in front of this audience. It had happened too many times to count in Department X, being punished for their failures. Regardless of the hurt the man had caused her that morning, Natasha would not see anything happen to him in this room.

She was preparing to spring to her feet, but she had forgotten to take one thing into account: Jack O'Neill.

"Ya know," Jack said, but casually, "This might be the dumbest thing I've ever signed off on, bringing you into the Stargate Program, Sgt. Barnes. And I've done some pretty bone-headed things in my time, I tell you."

"I disagree, General O'Neill," Teal'c said. "I can think of one decision you made that was far more ill-advised."

"Oh?" Jack said, turning to face Teal'c. This move put his back to James; Natasha knew in her bones that Jack wouldn't have done that if he thought there was any chance that James would attack him.

"When you first invited me to join your people," Teal'c said. He met Jack's eyes calmly. Jack sucked in a breath while Daniel just shook his head.

"Point taken," Jack said. "At least Barnes came with a somewhat dubious character reference."

Teal'c's mouth twitched in what Natasha assumed was amusement. His gaze slid past Jack. When he looked at James, all humor bled away. "Sgt. Barnes," Teal'c said. His words was quiet and deep, and Natasha was reminded how very old this man was. "I am not of this world, but I have become invested in the safety of it and its people, especially those in Stargate Command."

"Are they worth it?" James challenged, the chill of the Winter Soldier in his voice.

"They are."

James gave the man a small nod. "I'm interested in keeping the world turning, same as everyone here."

"You are?" Jack asked as he settled into the chair at the head of the table.

James looked at Jack. "Permission to speak freely, General O'Neill?"

"This should be good," Jack said. "Fine, Sergeant, speak your mind."

James put his hands behind his back. "During the Cold War, both sides were doing what they thought was right."

"That's what you have to defend your actions?" Jack demanded.

"The Soviets weren't always the bad guys and the Americans weren't always the good guys. It was just two sides against each other in a war." James squared his shoulders. "Surely you must have questioned some of your orders."

"Is this your oh-so-subtle way of telling me you're going to disobey orders, Sergeant?" Jack asked.

"Of course not, General." James smiled coldly. "I follow orders, even the ones I question."

Movement at the door, and John entered with General Landry and a handful of soldiers. "Question away, Sgt. Barnes," General Landry said. "As long as it's in the context of the briefing room and not in the field."

"Of course not, sir."

The extra soldiers were introduced as SG-19, specializing in covert operations, as John looked around the room. "Where's McKay?" he asked.

Vala pointed at the floor. "He's monopolizing Harriman's time with the database sandbox thing."

John glanced at the guard near the door, who headed down the stairs. Within seconds, Rodney McKay appeared, looking annoyed. "I'm not done," he told John.

"Important meeting, Rodney," was all John said. McKay rolled his eyes and sat in the only remaining empty chair, beside General Landry. "Well," John said when everyone was settled. "As a bit of a recap for everyone, Sgt. James Barnes, formerly with the 107th in the Army, has been recalled to active duty with the SGC so we can sort out this Isis situation."

"What?" McKay demanded. "That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard—"

"It's done, Rodney," John interrupted with a quelling glare. "Now, where are we with everything else?"

"We've been in contact with the _Hammond_ in deep space," said General Landry. "Given the situation, Colonel Carter is bringing the _Hammond_ home early. They entered hyperspace late last night and they should be back in orbit by this afternoon."

"The Tok'ra had a representative on board, didn't they?" Daniel asked.

"Two Tok'ra scientists," General Landry confirmed.

"I bet they were thrilled to hear Isis might be alive," Daniel said.

"I believe Colonel Carter used the phrase 'apoplectic'," General Landry said, a sparkle in his eye.

Vala shuddered. James caught the movement and frowned at her. "What are the Tok'ra?" he asked.

A weird silence came over the room as the SG members exchanged glances. Teal'c finally spoke. "As the Goa'uld symbiote takes control of a human host, the Tok'ra symbiote exists in peaceful co-existence with their host."

"More aliens?" Steve said sharply.

"Alien allies," Jack countered with authority in his voice. "More importantly, they'll be able to help us remove Isis from her human host when we find her."

"So Carter's going to be here soon," John said. "What else is going on?"

"We're nowhere with the database," McKay said. "The sandbox is set up in case this guy manages to decrypt the database, only if he can't crack the encryption, we're dead in the water."

"Any success in finding out more about the theft of the Goa'uld artifacts?" Teal'c asked.

Daniel leaned forward. "We've been over everything but the stone tablets. SG-19 found the hand device and the hara'kesh at the location specified by Sgt. Barnes yesterday."

"I stashed them," James explained. "The plan was to deliver them with the crystal I was supposed to steal from Area 51."

"What about the stone tablets?" Natasha asked. "Did you ever see those?"

James shook his head.

"Given the timelines," John interrupted, "Sgt. Barnes was still in cryostasis in Russia when the tablets were stolen from the Swedish university."

"Their security was appalling," Daniel said disapprovingly. "Especially given the age of the artifacts."

"Any idea how they got pinched?" asked Specialist Ryder, one of the members of SG-19.

"Someone called in to museum security, pretending to be from the University security department, about some faulty alarms around campus, telling the museum guards to phone it in if an alarm went off, not to investigate themselves," Daniel said.

Jack sighed. "Let me guess what happened next."

"The alarm went off and by the time university security showed up, the tablets were gone."

Vala hummed a few notes. "That's actually a good idea."

"No, it's not," Daniel said, in the voice of the long suffering.

"Anyway," John interrupted. "No video footage means we still don't have any visuals on Sgt. Barnes' contact, who may or may not be Isis."

Vala spun her chair back and forth. "Did you really get everyone in a room to tell us that we have nothing to go on?"

"Of course not," said John. "We're here to try to figure out where we go next, to get the database back and to catch Isis and everyone she's working with. Anyone have any ideas?"

No one jumped to speak. After a few moments, James leaned forward. "I have a suggestion," he said.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "And what might that be, Sergeant?"

"Let me complete the mission I was on. Give me the crystal from Area 51 and I'll get it to my contact, draw him out into the open."

Over the sudden murmurs in the room, Jack glared at James. "Let me get this straight," Jack said. "You want me to let you complete the mission we stopped you from doing in the first place? The one where you broke into a secure military base and nearly killed two of my people?"

"It's the only way I can think of to get my contact out into the open," James said. "All he knows is that I missed our planned meet-up. I'll figure out a way to get in touch with him and tell him I had to lay low for a few days, that I can complete the drop now."

"No."

"General—"

" _Sergeant_."

"Can we locate him any other way?" John asked.

"I can't see how. He didn't even meet with me to give me the USB key for Area 51," James said. "The drop itself was supposed to be anonymous too. I think if I stress that the military is alert to the threat, I can convince him to meet in person."

"You could make him think he has to inspect the sarcophagus crystal," Vala said. "Maybe say you weren't sure you grabbed the right one."

"If he thinks you took the wrong one, he will likely kill you," Natasha said.

"Which he'll have to do in person," James said, glancing over at Natasha. "Either way, the Americans can surround the drop point and catch the guy. He'll be able to lead us to Isis."

Jack threw up his hands. "What part of 'no' aren't you understanding?" he asked.

"Sir, you're asking for ideas and I don't hear anyone else with suggestions," James said. "Either you trust me to complete this mission and deliver Isis to you, or throw me back into that detention cell."

"Don't tempt me," Jack muttered. "What do you get out of this?"

"A second chance," James said. "I didn't set out to endanger this planet and now you tell me I have. I get a chance to fix that. I'd do that in or out of uniform."

"And if it doesn't work?" Jack shot back. "If Isis sees you coming from a mile away?"

The smile that twisted up James' lip was a painful thing. "You've still got the drop point surrounded. You get my contact, and all you're out is the cost of burial services."

Jack exchanged glanced with people around the table: General Landry, Daniel, Teal'c, then he turned to John. "I'm giving this one to you, Sheppard."

After a minute, John said, "I say we let Sgt. Barnes try. If he can get in touch with his contact, it's more than we have now."

"I do not believe he should go alone," Teal'c said.

"I'll go with him," Steve said, speaking for the first time.

"No," said three voices simultaneously. James and Jack, both of whom had objected, glared at each other, while Natasha swiveled her chair to face Steve. "Even if the contact doesn't recognize you as Captain America, bringing in a big guy as muscle is going to set the contact on edge," she said. "You need someone who won't be seen as a threat."

A few heads turned to look at Vala, who went instantly alert. "What?"

"You don't look like a threat," Daniel pointed out. "And you would be able to tell if the contact is a Goa'uld."

"That's not going to work," Natasha said before Vala could respond. "If you had a few weeks to prepare, possibly, but right now, you need a functioning team. You can't send them in together for the first time into something so dangerous."

"So you're volunteering," Jack said.

"I am." Natasha glanced at John. His expression was blank. ""Sgt. Barnes and I have worked together for years. If we do this now, this is the best option."

John rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Captain Brown, Captain Williams, I want you to coordinate on the ground surveillance on this operation," he finally said. "Pull in anyone you need. This is going to be an operation in U.S. soil, so be careful. I don't want the FBI on our ass on this one. Rodney, keep trying to figure out how to find that database."

"Wait," Vala objected. "You're going to let him," and she pointed at James, "Just hand over a sarcophagus crystal to a Goa'uld?"

"Of course not," John said. "We'll give him the one that got busted up in Hathor's sarcophagus."

"Broken or not, that's still an incredible risk," Vala objected. "Isis could gain valuable information from the crystal."

John leaned back in his chair. "It's a plan that doesn't include exposing every single person associated with the Stargate program to extreme risk. That's what we're facing if Isis or her associates decrypt the Area 51 database."

"I know." Vala shifted unhappily in her seat. "You need to be very, very careful about not underestimating Isis. Your best plans will likely not be good enough."

"I'd like to help," Steve said into the lull following Vala's warning. He was looking at John as he spoke, but his body was angled towards James.

"You're welcome to assist with ground support," Specialist Ryder said quickly. He met General O'Neill's raised eyebrow with an innocent look. "Colonel Sheppard did say we can pull in anyone, sir."

General Landry shook his head. "Just remember that this is a military operation," he told the room. "Not a SHIELD one."

"Of course, sir," Steve said.

John looked at his watch. "Alright, Sgt. Barnes has an appointment with the shrink to clear him for field duty. SG-19, plan for a daytime urban support mission. Agent Romanoff, you'll need a medical work-up before you can suit up."

"What about the database?" McKay asked.

"When Sam gets into orbit, get her to help you with the Goa'uld virus. And see what those Tok'ra scientists can do while you're at it."

"But—"

"SG-19, we'll reconvene in the hangar in one hour," John spoke over Rodney smoothly. "If there's nothing else?"

Jack stood up, his eyes on James as all the other military personnel also rose. "The safety of this planet is our paramount priority. Everyone remember that."

"Agreed, General O'Neill."

Jack stood a moment longer, then shook his head. "Worst idea ever," he muttered as he turned to leave.

SG-19 bundled Steve out of the room, talking among themselves about the mission. On their heels was James and his escort.

James didn't look back at Natasha once.

She knew she should go to the infirmary, to begin her preparations for the mission, but the weight of the morning pushed down on her shoulders, keeping her seated.

The Winter Soldier knew who he was.

The Winter Soldier had lied to her.

And when she called him on it, he'd turned on her viciously, as he had never been towards her. Compared with the man's actions in bed with her that morning, even the night before, it didn't make any sense. He had only turned on her after John forced him to reveal his returning memory.

Natasha ran her hands down her arms, remembering how he'd touched her that morning in the quiet dark of their bed, how he'd looked at her, how he'd said her name.

She didn't know why he had changed so suddenly.

As Natasha sat, thinking, Rodney McKay got to his feet and went over to John. "What the hell are you doing?" McKay demanded.

"Rodney, I'm working," John said, turning away. His escape was halted when McKay grabbed his arm.

"No, you've been pulling this crazy shit since we got you back from the Wraith," McKay said forcefully. "I thought we were going to find Isis through the database plan."

John sighed. "Rodney, think of how many people will be at risk if Isis decrypts that file," he said. "Yeah, we'll hopefully catch her, but what if she's passed that info off to a buyer? Jeannie's in that database, Rodney. What is someone goes after your sister? After Madison?"

"I get it!" McKay exclaimed. "But letting that guy loose in the field?"

"Hey, I'm not thrilled about it either," John said, stepping away from McKay. "If this turns into a disaster with the Goa'uld, I might lose my mother, okay?" He didn't look at Natasha. "And that sucked enough the first time."

Natasha stood and made her way around the table to John's side. She touched her son's arm. "That's not going to happen," she told him, trying to ignore McKay gawking at them. "He and I work well together. He trained me. There is no one else who could better work with him."

"You're sure?"

"John." Natasha stepped in front of him. "You didn't ask me to do this. It is my choice. You're right, we have to stop the alien and keep your people safe."

John patted Natasha's hand, drawing a deep breath. "Just do what you have to do so you come back in one piece, okay?"

"I will do my best," Natasha said. "But if something happens to me, don't blame Sgt. Barnes."

"Of course I'll blame him," John retorted. "You're my mother."

"And I'm older than both of you put together," Natasha pointed out, exaggerating only slightly. "John. Let us do this."

"Fine" John said. His brow furrowed slightly. "Just… if you suspect anything about his loyalties…"

"If I have any reason to suspect that Sgt. Barnes will turn sides to support Isis, I will shoot them both," Natasha promised. "But he won't turn on me, John."

"How can you be sure of that?" John asked. "He was going to shoot you at Area 51."

"We were not on the same mission at that time," said Natasha. "When he says he will work with me, he will. To the death."

"Again, are you sure? You seemed to think he didn't remember his past at all."

Natasha pressed her lips together. "I am not stupid, John. Staying alive is what I do." She straightened his tie and tugged on his lapels to flatten his jacket. "Believe me."

"I want to," said John. "I really do. Anyway, go to Medical, it shouldn't take you long to get cleared for the field."

Natasha wanted to kiss her son on the cheeks, to reassure him that she would return to him, but there were still many people in the room and it was probably not suitable for a mother to make a fuss over her son when that son was in charge of important covert military operations.

Instead, Natasha smiled at John, and let the guard lead her out of the room.

* * *

The medical review was tedious. Dr. Lam took Natasha's vital signs, asked about medications and medical history. She seemed intrigued by Natasha's description of her rapid healing.

"I know this isn't the time, but I'd love to examine your cellular structure," the doctor said as a nurse drew blood from Natasha's arm. "We've usually found that accelerated healing can lead to an acceleration of the aging process."

"Perhaps some other time," Natasha demurred, watching as the nurse put the blood vials on a tray. "Why the blood?"

"Every time we send personnel out into the field, we ensure that we have enough type-matched blood on hand in case we need to operate in emergency conditions," Dr. Lam explained. "We're deep enough underground that the delay in getting blood here from the base hospital could be fatal."

"Even if it's just a trip to Las Vegas?" Natasha asked.

"Any mission against the Goa'uld ranks at the top of the priority list," Dr. Lam said. "Anything else I need to know about your medical history before we finish here?"

Natasha stared at the small vials of blood, thinking of the doctor's words about emergency situations. "I need to be operated on under a local anesthetic," she said, deciding that sharing this small part of her biology was worth the risk. "My body burns through a general anesthetic too fast. A local is better than being under a general that wears off while I'm still under the knife."

Dr. Lam paled. "That's.... horrible." She made a note on Natasha's chart. "We have brain-activity monitors we can use during surgery, combined with any anesthetic. Best to be prepared."

"Yes." Of course, a doctor would understand what it meant to wake up under general anesthetic, unable to move, feeling the slide of the knife through her belly. "Is there anything else?"

"I want to do a quick bone scan," the doctor said.

Natasha frowned. "I don't want to be walking around Las Vegas with radioactive markers in me," she said.

"This isn't a traditional bone scan." Dr. Lam indicated a slender white structure at the bed's side. "No radio isotopes, no waiting. Completely non-invasive."

Natasha hesitated, weighing her choices. "What will you use the information for?"

"In case we need to do reconstructive surgery, or if we have to identify remains," Dr. Lam said bluntly. "In case dental or DNA matching isn't sufficient."

Natasha could see the logic in that. After all, if she'd had access to such information about the Winter Soldier in Romania in 1999, she wouldn't have spent thirteen long years believing the man was dead.

Laying on the exam table, Natasha let her gaze drift across the ceiling as Dr. Lam powered up the machine. It let out a soft hum as it scanned Natasha's body down to the bone.

The Winter Soldier had lied to her, and Natasha never suspected a thing.

She never questioned him.

No, it was more than that. She _never_ questioned him, not about the important things. Sure, she would push back at him about decisions in the field, plans of attack, but she had never questioned his account of who he was.

She'd believed everything he ever told her about himself, and she wasn't sure why.

At first, as a small child, she could be excused her blind acceptance of the man. But she had only been a child for a short time.

In her life, she questioned everything, distrusted everything she was told until she could verify independently.

Except for the Winter Soldier.

She'd believed everything he'd told her for nearly sixty years; when he told her he didn't remember his past; when he told her he'd keep her safe.

When he said he loved her.

And now, in a single admission, James Barnes had turned sixty years of belief in the Winter Soldier upside down.

She didn't know how she could believe anything he told her.

She didn't know why she had done so in the first place.

Was it something they'd done to her in the Red Room? Most of her behavioral programming had an immediate purpose. Why would they drill it into her head to accept the Winter Soldier's word unquestioningly?

The machine moved past her collarbone. "You will want to close your eyes," Dr. Lam said as the arm hummed over her chin.

Natasha shut her eyes. If the Winter Soldier didn't love her, if he'd lied to her when he said he had… there was nothing she could do to change that. Maybe, in rediscovering himself in the months since he escaped the cryo-chamber, he'd realized what he felt for her wasn't real.

They were his emotions. It was his choice. That was what they had always been so careful about, accepting each other's choices, not forcing anything on the other. Natasha could not force James Barnes to love her, would not think about pushing him to do so. She had to accept it.

The only thing was, she didn't think she'd be able to turn off her feelings for the man so easily.

Natasha could almost imagine Coulson standing at her bedside, shaking his head disapprovingly. He'd once told her that she lost objectivity when it came to her son; she knew what his reaction would be to her emotional attachment to the Winter Soldier.

But it didn't matter, because Coulson was dead, killed by Loki in the Battle of New York, and Natasha hadn't even had a chance to see his body before it was cremated in the days following the battle.

"All done," Dr. Lam announced as the machine's hum stopped. "You're cleared for action. Take care out there."

Natasha sat up, slightly disoriented. "Thank you," she said as she slipped to the ground. "No offence, but I hope I don't see you soon."

"None taken," Dr. Lam said with a smile. "I prefer that my preparations to be unnecessary."

And with that, Natasha's guard took her back to her guest room.

Where she found Steve Rogers.

The man was sitting in one of the room's chair, chin in his hand and looking as dejected as Natasha had ever seen him. "Hi, Steve," she said, leaving the door to the corridor open behind her. "I thought you'd be with SG-19 getting ready."

"They're a good team," Steve said. His voice was hollow. "I told them I'd do whatever they needed me to do."

Natasha sat on the end of the bed and looked closely at Steve. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Steve was just a man, and the youngest of the Avengers. A man who'd once lost everything.

And today, he'd heard his best friend accuse him of deliberately letting him fall, of not being there when James needed him the most.

"How are you doing?" Natasha asked quietly.

Steve ran his fingers over the edge of the table. "Ever have one of those horrible nightmares and then realize that it's never going to end because you're not asleep?"

"Steve."

"I've spent two years wondering what this super-soldier thing was worth, if I couldn't even save Bucky when he needed me, and now I know he spent all this time in hell and it's my fault."

"Steve," Natasha said again. "Look at me."

He turned his head. His eyes were red. "I guess Bucky's right; I am making this all about me," he said bitterly.

Natasha touched Steve's shoulder. "That's what grief does to us," she said. "It's not a bad thing."

Steve cleared his throat. "I spent all last night trying to come up with new ways to help Bucky remember his life, you know?"

"What sort of ideas did you have?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe we could go to Brooklyn. Maybe seeing things in person would mean something. Only now I know that he didn't need anything like that, because he already knew."

"It still might help," Natasha told Steve. "You heard the way he talked about himself yesterday, when he talked about James Barnes."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when you spoke about your childhood, and how he called James Barnes a loser?"

Steve nodded. "I thought he was just being dismissive, but…"

"Would he ever speak about himself like that if he remembered everything?"

"I don't think so," Steve said slowly. "Sure, Bucky didn't know what he wanted to do with his life, joining the Army was good for him like that. But…" Steve stood up and paced the small room. "You should have known him then, Natasha. He was always up for new things, meeting new people. He even went to art school with me because he thought it would be neat, you know?"

Natasha tried to imagine her Winter Soldier as the fun-loving boy of Steve's childhood, but she couldn't get past the memory of her first encounter with the Winter Soldier, of that cold room with only a gun to save her.

"He wasn't some punk, he was a good man," Steve went on. "He was a hard worker, a really good friend. If he'd married a girl, he'd have been a good provider, a family man."

Natasha stood up, interrupting Steve's path. "Steve, you don't need to tell me that he was a good man," she said, putting her hands on his arms. "Even if he didn't know who he had been, he was still a good man."

Steve frowned down at her. "He treated you all right? Like a man should?"

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Steve had been born just after the First World War, and then he'd say something that would drag everyone back several decades.

But she understood what he meant. "Yes, you could say that," she said with a sad smile.

"Good." Steve rubbed his hands over his face. "That's good."

He still looked so miserable that Natasha decided to break one of her rules. "Come here," she said, beckoning with her hands.

Steve obliged, taking a step forward. "What?"  
  
She held out her arms. "I think we can both admit that the last few days have been one level above hell. Come here."

Hesitating only a moment, Steve took another step and wrapped his arms around her. He was big and strong and his embrace nearly swallowed her whole. She put her arms around his back, resting her cheek against his chest.

She knew him physically; they'd sparred together frequently, so the physical proximity wasn't new. He was strong, all muscle, but hugging him like this, Natasha wondered how she hadn't seen how lonely he was.

"I missed Bucky so much," Steve whispered into her hair. "And now he thinks I wanted him dead. I don't know if that's worse than him being dead."

"We'll get through this," Natasha said. "All of us. I promise."

"Okay," Steve said, his arms tightening around Natasha as she patted his back in reassurance.

She wondered when the last time anyone had hugged Steve Rogers.

"You should film this and sell it on the internet," came a horribly familiar voice. Natasha whirled around to see James framed in the open doorway. He had his hands in his pockets and an ugly expression on his face. "Take off your shirt, Talia, and you'll make millions. Captain America does Russia's most experienced spy."

"Knock it off!" Steve exclaimed.

"Why?" James sauntered into the room. "I mean, why am I not surprised to find the two of you in each other's pants?"

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed, descending on James. "Don't talk about her like that!"

"Why not?" James asked, head cocked. "She's been in my bed long enough, it only makes sense that you're still after my seconds—"

He was interrupted by Steve's fist against his jaw. James went to the side, grabbing at Steve. Both men fell to the floor in a heap, James trying to find an angle for a blow while Steve kept shoving at the other man.

"Stop it!" Natasha exclaimed, climbing over the bed to get to the men. It wasn't hard to separate them; she hit Steve in the solar plexus and stepped on James' thigh, close to the groin. They reflexively flinched away from the other, and Natasha could haul Steve off James. "What is wrong with you?" Natasha went on, furious with them both. "This is embarrassing! Grown men fighting like you're in a school yard!"

"He—" Steve tried to say, but Natasha had reached the end of her rope.

"We're in a military base with the possibility that aliens are going to attack and you're fighting like children!" Natasha turned to James, who had propped himself up on the table. "And you, what are you doing?"

"Just calling it like I see it," he said hotly, feeling his jaw where Steve had hit him.

"No, you're not," Natasha objected. "Not once in my entire life have you ever spoken of me like I'm some kind of whore, like I let men use me, and this is twice in one day! I don't care how mad you are at Steve, leave me out of it!"

In a flash, he pushed himself off the table and was in her personal space. "You think I'm angry at Steve?" he demanded.

Natasha didn't move. "We have a mission to complete," she said, trying to keep her temper in check. "I've been trying to clean up your messes for days. If you really think so little of me, tell me now so I can call off this mission before we both end up dead. Otherwise, put whatever is bothering you on a shelf until this is over, all right?"

James glared at her for a long moment, then he looked away. "There's no need to call off the mission," he said. He smoothed his shirt over his chest. "When this is all over, we can just go our separate ways. You and me, we're done."

His words hit Natasha in the chest like the butt of a rifle. Sixty years, and it ended like this?

"You always do this!" Steve interrupted.

"Shut up!"

"Every time you think you're going to lose someone, you push them away first!" Steve shot back. "You've been doing it since I met you—"

"Do you think you'll still be able to talk after I break all your ribs?" James demanded, clenching his fists.

"Get out," Natasha said. The words felt like stones in her mouth. "Both of you, get the fuck out. I have a mission to prepare for."

If it was over between her and James, fine. She could handle that. They had a mission to complete. She was Natalia Alinova Romanova, the Black Widow, and her emotions did not control her.

If James Barnes did not want to be her lover, it was his decision.

She would conduct herself as she always did, with the mission in mind.

"Both of you, get out," she said again. Steve moved first, slowly walking out of the room. He stopped in the doorway, giving Natasha and James a long look, before vanishing.

James stared at Natasha, not moving.

"I will honor your choices," Natasha said in Russian, standing straight. "I will only ask that you conduct yourself during the mission as a professional. Our son has staked his reputation on the fact that we can do this."

"I made an oath to the United States when I enlisted," James said, also in Russian. "I affirmed that this morning. I will do this."

"Then we have an understanding."

"We do." He hesitated, almost as though he wanted to say something more, but then he turned and left the room.

Natasha didn't have any time to think, because the next moment, Vala was coming through the doorway, her arms piled high with clothing. "I'm taller than you but I think you can still wear some of this," she said. "Unless you want to go undercover dressed like that."

'That' was the jeans she'd been wearing for two days and a black shirt. Not suitable for undercover work in Las Vegas in March.

"What did you bring?" Natasha asked, pushing her emotions and her hurt into a mental box to deal with later.

"A bit of everything," Vala said, dumping her armful on the bed. "I still think it would be better if I went with Sgt. Barnes."

"I know him well," Natasha said, holding up a white shirt for consideration.

"I know the Goa'uld better," Vala pointed out.

"This is true." Natasha let a red silk scarf slide through her fingers. "But Sgt. Barnes is used to working alone or with me. Another person with no training will put him at a disadvantage."

"You're sure about this."

"About him? Yes. I told my son I would help and I will." Natasha picked up a low-cut green t-shirt. If she were to present herself as a young woman looking to party in Las Vegas… "Do you have a camisole?"

Vala pulled a piece of black cloth out from the pile. "You're not going to be able to hide a lot of weapons in that outfit," she observed as Natasha pulled off her shirt and donned the camisole and t-shirt.

"I have knives," Natasha said, adjusting her breasts in her bra for maximum effect. Her boots were slightly out of character for the persona, but if running was going to be on the menu in the next few days, she couldn't risk a higher pair of shoes. "Do you think I could borrow a jacket?"

Vala held up a black leather jacket. Natasha tried it on. It was too long in the sleeves, but she could pull it off. She'd be able to hide a pistol in the left pocket, as well as another in her waistband if necessary.

"Just…" Vala ran her hand through her dark hair. "Don't underestimate Isis. Whatever you do, don't think she's going to be easy to catch."

"I don't think that."

Vala slid off the bed. "What no one here seems to understand is how devious Isis was. This database theft, it makes no sense. What does she gain by it?"

"She got the attention of Stargate Command."

"She gets Stargate Command to send people after her," Vala corrected.

"If Colonel Sheppard hadn't brought Sgt. Barnes in for this, who would have gone after Isis?"

Vala shrugged, playing with a scarf. "Maybe me, Teal'c and Daniel. We know the Goa'uld best. Maybe another team." She looked up at Natasha. "Something is wrong and I don't understand what."

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Natasha said, tucking knives about her person. "I do not intent to be complacent about this."

"Good," said Vala, standing. "Well, good luck."

"Thank you." Natasha turned to her makeup kit as Vala hauled her unused armfuls of clothing out of the room.

Natasha only had a few minutes; she may as well make them count.

* * *

Everyone was gathered in the Jumper hangar when Natasha stepped out of the elevator. The four members of SG-19, dressed in civilian clothes, were loading up the Jumper with equipment. Off to the side, Steve held his shield, carefully not looking at James.

The man himself was adjusting the cuff on his jacket. He looked civilian enough, a glove hiding his metal hand. His long hair was tucked behind his ears, and with his rough shave from that morning, he looked properly disreputable.

Chin held high, Natasha walked over to the man's side. "Sgt. Barnes."

"Agent Romanova," he said in return. "Romanoff," he corrected the next moment.

"Are you outfitted for the day?"

In response, he pulled aside the collar of his black over-shirt to reveal the Winter Soldier's bullet-proof shirt. "Are you armed?"

She didn't bother to respond to that. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as our pilot arrives." He reached out and touched her chin, tilted her face to the light. She let him, unsure of his intent. "Perhaps a bit more eyeliner," he suggested, letting her go. "The light in the shooting range is dimmer by the entrance, it shouldn't stand out."

"Do you think the clerks will be distracted by my eyeliner?" Natasha asked.

"No, I expect they will be distracted by other things," James said, trying to smile. It didn't work. "But to be in character."

Natasha reached into her bag, which held enough supplies for her to work undercover for a week, and pulled out the small stick of eyeliner. "Would you?"

It was a show of trust, and a subtle power play in their new dynamic. If he was no longer her lover, or even her friend, she still needed to trust him with her life in the line of fire. Trusting him to be so close to her eyes with a sharp stick was her way of convincing her body of just that.

Carefully, with practiced hands, James drew a line of makeup along her lower eyelid, then used the tip of his pinkie to gently blend the colors at the outside corner of her eye. She held still, looking up at the overhead lights as James applied the makeup to her other eye.

"All done," he said, handing her back the eyeliner.

"Thank you," she said. Already, her body was settling into a new normal, of close physical proximity to the man without sexual undertones. She could imagine that he was her colleague now, nothing more.

They had a mission to complete.

The elevator door opened and John stepped into the hangar, dressed in civilian clothes. "Everyone ready?" he asked, strolling across the floor.

"We're missing a pilot," Natasha said.

"Not anymore." John hefted the black sports bag he carried and tossed it at James. "One non-functioning sarcophagus crystal, ready for action. We also put replicas of the Goa'uld weapons you stole in there, in case your guy gets curious. SG-19, how are we doing?"

"We're as good as we'll ever be for a moving land target in civilian areas," said Captain Brown. "Ryder's got the surveillance and visualization software tied into the Jumper. It will active as soon as you're in the chair."

"Have you wired up Sgt. Barnes and Agent Romanoff?"

"Agent Romanoff just got here." The Captain handed her a small earpiece. "It's got enough power to function as transmitter and receiver for twenty-four hours. After that, it goes into emergency transmission mode."

Natasha fitted the small earpiece into her left ear. It didn't block sound as much as she'd feared. "Testing," came a voice in her ear. She looked across the hangar and gave Specialist Ryder, in the back of the Jumper, a small wave. "Good to be with you, ma'am."

"How does this work?" she asked.

"During the operation, I'll be on channel with you and Sgt. Barnes," Ryder said. His voice was low and even in her ear. "If you two separate, we can connect you with each other as well as us here."

"What about the rest of your team?" As Natasha asked, John gestured at James to join him a few feet away.

"When we do leave the Jumper, we'll all be on-channel," Ryder clarified. "Until then, we'll keep distraction to a minimum. One voice from the Jumper."

Across the room, John and James were talking quietly. As Natasha watched, John handed James a small silver disc. As it lay in James' hand, a green light in the centre started to glow. Over Natasha's earpiece, she could head a high-pitched whine.

"Hey!" Ryder yelled, poking his head out of the Jumper. John waved him down.

"Sorry, Ryder, my fault," John called. He said something to James, and the man frowned at the silver disc until the green light went out. The high-pitched alarm stopped.

"Hey," Steve said, drifting over to Natasha's side. His shield hung from his left arm. "Are you ready for this?"

"Of course I am," Natasha said. In the corner of her vision, she watched James pull his dog tags out from under his shirt and slip the metal disc onto the chain.

"Are you sure? Bucky said some pretty rough stuff back there."

Natasha put her hand up to stop Steve. "We're working," she said repressively. "My professional relationship with Sgt. Barnes is intact."

"But—"

" _Steve_."

The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How can you do that?"

When this mission was over, she was going to sit her male colleagues down for the _we don't discuss our personal life choices in the front of our military allies_ seminar, again. "I respect his right to make his own choices."

"Even when they're stupid ones?"

She put her hands on her hips. "I know what it's like to have no control over my own life, Steve. So does he. It's his life, his choices."

"He's making a mistake."

"It's his mistake to make. And," Natasha said, stepping into Steve's personal space. "Not relevant to the mission."

Steve looked over her head, to where James was standing. "You're right," he said, squaring his jaw. "Let's go stop some bad guys."

"Steve," Natasha said, catching his sleeve. "After this is all over, I'm going to help him remember more of who he is. Are you going to help me?"

She raised her eyebrow as she said it, a challenge. In response, she could see Steve's resolve hardening.

It was all about priorities, really. Isis first, then they'd help James Barnes come back to himself.

"I'll see you in the Jumper," Steve said. Natasha watched him go.

"What did you say to him?" James asked Natasha, coming up behind her.

"I told him to focus on the current priorities," she said. "Why?"

"He looked too happy," James grumbled.

"Then go insult his mother, it's about the only thing you haven't done to him yet," Natasha suggested.

James narrowed his eyes as John came up behind them. "Ready to go?" John asked, clapping his hands.

"Of course, sir," James said immediately.

"Wouldn't miss it," Natasha murmured, and into the Jumper they went.

The flight from Colorado Springs to Las Vegas took nearly no time at all. John made James sit in the back, so the ship wouldn't get confused about who was piloting. Natasha listened to Lt. Cheeks, SG-19's demolitions expert, outline the plan for any on-ground assault to secure Isis or her confederates.

Thankfully, everyone behaved themselves on the flight, and soon John was setting the cloaked Jumper down behind a deserted building, up the street from the shooting range where the Winter Soldier was to have met his contact.

"What's the plan?" John asked, touching lights on the Jumper's view screen.

"We go in and feel it out," James said, standing to settle his jacket over his shoulder holster. "We'll be in touch."

"That's your entire plan?" Steve asked.

James shrugged. "The more you plan, the more things can go wrong."

John sighed. "Okay, everyone, stay safe. No getting shot or arrested in Las Vegas, the paperwork's a bitch."

James tossed John a salute before striding out of the Jumper. Natasha gave Steve a reassuring look, smiled at John, and followed James into the street.

It was past noon as she and James entered the shooting range. A bored-looking clerk sat behind the counter. The lights in the lobby were the old yellow bulbs, showing walls of poster advertisements. Across the room, a row of storage lockers took up one whole wall.

James walked over to the storage lockers. He tugged on the locker door third from the end, second from the top. The door opened easily to show an empty locker.

"Hey, buddy," the clerk called. "You gotta pay first before you can store your stuff."

James headed over to the counter. Natasha followed, appearing bored as she took in every detail. There was no one else in the entrance hall, although she could hear the muffled sound of gunfire in the shooting range through the doors.

The most interesting thing Natasha could see was the state-of-the-art video surveillance system set up behind the counter.

"I was here a couple of days ago," James said, dropping his bag on the counter. "I was in a hurry when I left and I grabbed the wrong bag out of the lockers."

Natasha could see the disbelief in the clerk's eyes, so she decided to contribute a bit of distraction to the mix. "Look, I told you I was sorry," she said to James, tossing a Jersey accent over her words as she leaned against the counter to give the clerk a clear line of sight to her cleavage. "My sister—"

James raised his hand a fraction off the counter to stop her. "No one cares about your sister, sweetheart." To the clerk, he said, "There was only one other guy around that day, white, going bald?"

The clerk reached into a drawer and pulled out a slip of paper. "Yeah. He came back in yesterday, seemed pretty hot to get in touch with you."

"Thanks," James said, taking the paper.

"If this is about some drug deal, I'm going to call the cops," the clerk added.

James picked up his bag from the counter. "This ain't a drug deal," he said. "All I want is my library books back."

The clerk appeared unconvinced, but James was pushing Natasha out of the lobby, into the street. "What does it say?" Natasha asked as they walked down the sidewalk. The day was chilly by Las Vegas standards, and she pulled her jacket close around her body.

"It's a phone number," James said. "And it says to call from a pay phone."

"What's the number?" Ryder asked over the earpiece. James read it off for him. After a moment, Ryder said, "It's an office line in downtown Las Vegas. The power company."

James pushed the note into his pocket. "Let's see what's behind door number one."

"You're going to call the number?" Natasha asked.

"Hey, I'm just some guy looking for a lost library book," James said. "There's probably a pay phone at that gas station down the block."

Ryder said, "Colonel Sheppard wants me to tell you that we should get some mariachi music to go along with this."

"We'll save the tumble weeds for later," Natasha said, following James as he crossed the gas lot to the graffitied payphone.

"Got a nickel?" he asked Natasha. She dug two quarters out of her pocket and slapped them into James' hand. "Fifty cents for a phone call, what is the world coming to?" he grumbled, but he gave her a wink as the words left his mouth. She wanted to roll her eyes at the show he was putting on for the group in the Jumper.

He dropped the coins into the slot and dialed the number on the note, and waited.

After what felt like a minute, James went still. "It's me," he said. A pause, then, "I've got what you wanted—"

He bit down on his words, listening hard. Natasha scanned the gas station parking lot. There was a blue car filling up with petrol, a middle-aged woman going into the station, a clerk inside making change for two teenagers.

"There were some complications, but I got it out— no, no one can ID me," James said, irritated. "You hired me to pull this off, and I did."

Natasha's earpiece came to life. "Ma'am, the call to that number has been forwarded. We can't determine the call's end location," Ryder said. "Advise keeping the call going for as long as possible."

She touched James' wrist and made small motions with her fingers, indicating to keep the caller on the line. James nodded. "I've got what you want and I can deliver it now," he said.

The teenagers came out of the gas station in a rush of noise and color. Natasha watched them idly.

"I'm not asking for any more money, we had a deal," James said. He drummed his metal fingers on the side of the phone box. Then he tensed as he looked at Natasha. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he said, "No, I'm not working alone."

They had no idea if they were being watched; no idea where the caller was. If the suspected that James was lying to him…

Natasha gave a tiny nod, and James relaxed slightly. "She helped me deal with that complication I was talking about. We've worked together before, she's discreet."

Ryder spoke in Natasha's ear. "Still not able to get a lock. We're processing."

"No," James was saying. "This isn't going to affect my price. The problems were on my end, I'll pay her out of my cut."

Another car pulled into the gas station, and an older man got out of the car.

"Just give me a location where we can meet," James said. "You can see the merchandise and we both walk away happy."

Ryder made an unhappy noise. "Still no progress."

"What? Yeah, I can be there in 20 minutes," James said, standing straight. "I'll…Hello?" He pulled the handset away from his ear. "Someone's mother didn't teach them any manners."

"We could not complete the trace," Ryder said as James hung up the phone. "We have no idea where the caller is."

"Can John's friend help?" Natasha asked, following James across the gas station parking lot.

A hesitation on the line, and a new voice came on the channel. "Rodney doesn't specialize in this," John said.

"But maybe Jarvis?" said Steve, joining the channel. "Tony can access the SHIELD servers."

"Tony can probably help," Natasha said. "You should ask him."

James stopped on the street corner, looking around. "In the meantime, I have a drop to make," he said.

"Sergeant," John said. "You do realize that this is a trap."

"Of course," James said. He hailed a cab off in the distance. "That's the best way to set a trap – when your prey thinks he's the one in control."

The taxi pulled up and the driver looked at them through the open window. "I'm off-shift."

"How about an extra twenty?" James asked.

The man gave him a look. "This is fucking Vegas, son."

"Fifty, then."

"Fine, get in." The driver waited until both James and Natasha were in the car, then he sped off.

James gave the man the address, as Ryder spoke quietly into their earpieces about the Jumper flying to that location's proximity.

The car radio was on and Natasha settled back into the cushions, the man at her side warm and familiar. His tension was comforting in its own way. It was the thrill of the hunt, the singing of adrenaline in their veins.

The drive took about ten minutes. Finally, the cab slowed to a halt outside of an old industrial building. It looked abandoned.

The taxi driver turned around. "This can't be the right address," he said.

"This is it," James said, handing the driver a handful of cash. "Thanks for the lift."

The driver took the money, looked down at it, then shifted his gaze to Natasha. "Can I take you somewhere else, lady?" he asked. "No charge."

Natasha smiled at the man. "Thanks, but I'm good." She slid out of the taxi, and watched it drive away.

A breeze picked up, colder than before. Natasha hunched her shoulders as she and James walked towards the empty building.

"We're setting the Jumper down up the street," Ryder reported. "Stay on channel in order to confirm if additional help is needed." He paused. "And Colonel Sheppard wants to remind you that you should be careful."

"Always," Natasha said.

The door to the building was ajar. Natasha took in a breath, but all she could smell was old oil and the dry Nevada dust.

"Going in," James said quietly. He slipped through the half-open door. "On point."

As soon as they were in the building, they drew their weapons and walked down the hall. The building was deathly silent, dust hanging in the air.

"I don't think there's anyone else here," James said after a minute. He did not, however, lower his gun.

"What do we do now?" Natasha asked.

"He said to put the bag on the chair; my money is in a bag on the floor."

"Are we going to just leave the crystal and go?" Natasha asked. "How will that help us?"

They came out of the hall into a large open room, the sort used for manufacturing. Only now the room was empty, save for scattered broken furniture lying on the concrete floor.

In the middle of the floor was a chair, and beside that chair was a small black backpack.

"Stay alert." John's voice came through the earpiece. "What's your call, Sergeant?"

James exchanged a glance with Natasha. She knew from his expression that he wanted to go for it, ride the mission until its end.

"All in," Natasha said quietly. Her hand tightened around the butt of her gun.

John exhaled. "It's on you."

James and Natasha crossed the floor slowly. With every step, Natasha scanned the ground for any hints of surveillance equipment, explosives, trip wires.

James went around one last pile of debris, edging closer to the chair. He knelt on the floor to examine the underside of the chair.

"Doesn't look like the chair or bag is rigged from the outside," James said. He swung his bag off his shoulder

(Something was wrong)

and moved to place it on the chair

(Natasha scanned the room, heart in her throat. She'd seen something, _something_ , that set her heart racing, adrenaline screaming in her to run _run run_ )

and the bag touched the chair.

(there, on the dirty window, scratched into the glass, was one of Clint Barton's secret messages, a mix of hobo signs and phonetic symbols, something Clint had developed for her and Phil Coulson over a decade with SHIELD, only Clint Barton wasn't there and Phil Coulson was dead and this message read out, in four stark symbols, _extreme danger_ )

"Abort," Natasha said quickly, heart in her throat, and James was already moving, leaving the bag on the chair, leaving the black backpack where it lay on the floor against the chair's leg.

"Report?" Ryder said crisply.

"It's a trap," Natasha said, running now toward the exit, James on her heels. "We've got to get out of here."

"I'll have the Jumper there in one minute," John said.

At the end of the hall, something was wrong. The door was closed and Natasha hadn't closed it and James hadn't closed it but she was there then, pulling on the door and it wouldn't open and James took hold of the handle and pulled with all his might when all of a sudden something fell down around them with a horrible metallic whine and bright lights. Ryder was shouting something about rings as the world vanished into a flash of light and a screaming whine.

The world coalesced into darkness. Natasha held up her gun. The only sound was James' ragged breathing. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness.

A blast of light to her left, and Natasha fired her gun as James fell to the ground with a thud. Another blast hit her full in the chest and everything stopped.

* * *

Natasha was pulled back to consciousness by the screaming.

Not just screaming: agonized shrieks of a body being ripped apart, flayed alive. Natasha was trying to get to her feet before she was even awake, to reach for her weapons, but she couldn't stand, couldn't reach, couldn't move.

More screaming and a thick, wet snap, like the breaking of a green branch. The screams broke off into panting shrieks as something metal landed hard on a nearby surface.

Natasha tried to open her eyes, but there was something on her face and her arms were held immobile. She rubbed her head against the cold surface on which she lay. In a few moments, she managed to get the blindfold up off her eyes.

The unfamiliar room was bright, light gleaming off metallic surfaces. Natasha lay strapped to a table, thick metal cuffs tight over her arms and calves.

The shrieking had given way to moaning and it was _him_ she heard in such agony, her Winter Soldier, Bucky, James, and she didn't know where he was.

Natasha twisted her head around, trying to see her way around this metallic room.

That was when she saw it.

The Winter Soldier's metal arm lay in the middle of the floor, blood still oozing out of the shoulder where it had once been attached to James Barnes' body.

The world swam before her eyes in streamers of yellow and grey, as Natasha stared at the Winter Soldier's metal arm on that floor, blood pooling around it.

Movement, and there was someone backing toward her, dragging something. At first, Natasha couldn't see, and then she could; James' boots, James' body, being dragged toward her.

Only it wasn't a body; his feet were moving as James tried in vain to get away.

Natasha strained against her restraints, fighting to free herself, to help him. She had to get free and help him, she had to save him.

The man dropped James to the ground, and James let out a scream as the stub of his ruined arm slammed into the floor. The man, his back still to Natasha, propped James up against the wall and tied a rough tourniquet around the remains of James' mangled arm.

Then the man moved, and Natasha could see James' face. He was so pale his skin was grey. Bright red blood spattered his body. He looked at Natasha with tears of agony in his eyes, unable to keep crying with the pain.

Then the man turned around.

Natasha let out an involuntary cry, struggling hard against her bonds. It wasn't possible, he was _dead_ , how could it be him?

Phil Coulson looked down at her, his hands covered in the Winter Soldier's blood. He said, "Hello, Natasha," in that voice she remembered so well, from over ten years of working together. But no, it was wrong, his voice was metallic and harsh and Natasha's stomach seized up at the sound of metal screaming over his words. "I've been waiting for this for so very long."

Then he smiled at her, and Phil Coulson's eyes flashed Goa'uld gold.

_To be continued._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  [](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/)   
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> Photoset by [Rhiana-One on tumblr](http://riana-one.tumblr.com/)  
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> I've been wanting to write this chapter for over a year.
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> Stargate trivia: The thing Teal'c was talking about in the first part of this chapter refers to the [pilot episode](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_the_Gods) for Stargate SG-1: After Daniel's wife is abducted by the Goa'uld Apophis (there is also other stuff happening), Jack and Daniel go to Apophis's home planet. They're going to be killed until Jack stages an escape attempt and in the process, he gets Apophis's head Jaffa, Teal'c, to turn sides and help SG-1 (and the other prisoners) escape. Teal'c joins forces with SG-1 and Jack O'Neill is instrumental in getting the powers that be let Teal'c join SG-1 on a permanent basis (so it's the same scenario as here – ‘bad' guy changes sides and joins Stargate Command).


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

Natasha swallowed hard against the sudden painful clench of her stomach. "Nick Fury told us that Coulson was dead," she said, unable to think beyond that.

The creature wearing Phil Coulson's skin let out a sigh. "You used to be better than this, little one." The metal in his voice grated on Natasha's ears. "You shouldn't believe what you're told by men who think they control you."

Behind the Goa'uld, James tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't gain his balance and hit the ground with a scream of pain.

The Goa'uld turned around, Phil Coulson's expression of annoyance on his face. "Why won't you just sit still?" he demanding, hauling James across the floor. He shoved James against the wall, then punched the man in the head. "Don't make me kill you so soon!"

Natasha strained against the manacles. "Stop it!" she exclaimed.

Coulson's body walked back to the table. "You want me to spare him?" he asked mockingly. "This monster of yours?"

He reached out one blood-soaked finger and touched Natasha's lip. The sensation of naquada hit her like a bullet; screaming down her spine and clutching at her guts like a fist. She tried to jerk her head away, but the Goa'uld grabbed her, one hand on her chin and the other balled up in her hair. His eyes flashed in anger.

"You think you can get away from me?" he demanded. He pulled her head back so her throat was exposed. "You've never been able to escape me."

"Leave her alone!" James shouted weakly.

The Goa'uld shook his head as he released Natasha. "What do you see in him?" the Goa'uld asked. "All bluster and violence. I'd have thought you'd have gone for someone with more personality." The Goa'uld smirked. "Someone like Clint Barton, perhaps?"

The only way the Goa'uld could have known about Clint was if he had accessed Phil Coulson's memories. Natasha tried to catch her breath around the naquada-based nausea. "Why isn't Coulson dead?" she asked. She had no idea where they were, but maybe if she kept the Goa'uld talking, John would find them. She couldn't feel the receiver in her ear anymore, but if it was nearby, maybe John would find them before James bled out on the floor.

The Goa'uld walked over to the sink near the wall. "I couldn't help it, really," he said. He turned on the faucet and put his hands under the water. "The medics brought Agent Coulson's body into the infirmary after Loki escaped the helicarrier." The Goa'uld dried his hands on the hem of his jacket. "He wasn't all the way dead, just mostly dead." The Goa'uld stopped beside James, and deliberately kicked the mangled remains of his arm. James screamed and fell over.

"Stop hurting him!" Natasha shouted, arching her back as she fought against the manacles. The mental was unyielding, biting through her clothing into her arms and legs.

"If I do?" the Goa'uld asked. He moved back to Natasha's side. "What will you do for me?"

Natasha twisted her head around to look at James. He was trying to choke down his reaction, letting out short panting breaths. He shook his head at her.

Natasha looked up at the Goa'uld. For months, she'd missed Phil Coulson so much, and now to have his body so close, controlled by an alien... it was worse than the helicarrier, when Clint tried to kill her while under Loki's control.

"You're going to do whatever you want anyway," Natasha said, staring at the ceiling.

The Goa'uld chuckled. "That's true," he said. "But then, I've been doing what I want with you for so long, haven't I?"

Natasha bit down on her questions, never looking away from the ceiling. She wouldn't give the Goa'uld the satisfaction.

"Do you like the room I've made for you?" the Goa'uld asked. He gestured at the walls, at the the surveillance monitors showing scenes of the complex in black and white. "It took a very long time to get everything ready for you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get the rings transport in place? Importing anything from Algeria is difficult during the best of times, but since 9-11..." He tskd. "Really, you have no idea how many people I had to kill to get everything together."

The only sound other than the Goa'uld's metallic voice was James' pained breathing. Everything was cold and harsh in Natasha's senses. She had to figure a way out of this; she couldn't wait for John to find them, not after James had lost so much blood.

"Are you waiting for your allies to find you?" the Goa'uld asked. He bent over Natasha. "They won't. I left all your equipment back in that dark place." He smiled, and it was horrible, seeing that smile on Phil Coulson's face. "No one is coming to find you, Natasha."

He hopped up on the tabletop beside Natasha. "Do you see that over there?" the Goa'uld asked. He pointed at a timer at the head of the table. It was counting down, at just over twenty-three minutes. "That's why you're not going to find a way to escape while you keep me talking. Your restraints will only release when the clock runs out. Or," he said, gently pulling her shirt out of her waistband, "I should say, _my_ restraints."

A thrill of fear shocked Natasha into stillness. "You're going to take me as a host," she said, distantly aware that her voice was calm, somehow.

"Of course I am." The Goa'uld laid Phil Coulson's hand on Natasha's stomach. She saw it coming, and was ready for her body's panic at the sensation of naquada on her skin.

The thought of a Goa'uld inside her, controlling her, vomiting naquada into every part of her body, made Natasha want to cry. But no, she had twenty-two minutes to figure out a way to stop the Goa'uld and save James. She didn't have time for anything but finding a way out of this.

"Who are you?" Natasha asked, trying to keep still as the Goa'uld pushed her shirt up, exposing her bra.

"I thought I left enough ridiculous clues lying about that even someone as thick as your soldier would be able to figure that out," the Goa'uld said. "You've known me by many names, Natasha, but now you can call me Isis."

The Goa'uld reached around Natasha's body. Despite how she struggled, he unclasped her bra. He pushed the bra up to her neck, the table cold under her back as Isis used Phil Coulson's eyes and hands to examine her naked torso.

"Whatever did you do to your ribs?" he asked with distaste. He pressed hard against the thin scar on her side, an old knife wound that had healed badly. "The whole point of giving you accelerated healing was so you would heal without scarring. This was very sloppy of you."

Isis's talk of past names, of Natasha's healing, rattled about in her head. "Who did I know you as before?" Natasha asked, squirming away from the Goa'uld as far as she could. It was hard to think clearly when she was cold and exposed like this, under the same hands that had ripped James' arm from his body.

Natasha chanced another quick glance at James. His attention was fixed on Isis, skin chalk-white. Blood dripped slowly from the stump of his left arm; Isis's tourniquet wasn't as tight as it should have been.

Without warning, Isis slapped Natasha. "Look at me!" he screamed, hitting Natasha across the face again. Stars exploded in her eyes with the force of the blow; sound blanking out for a moment.

The next instant, a hand pressed over her mouth and nose and she couldn't breathe. She struggled, she fought, all for nothing, as Isis suffocated her. The world greyed as her air ran out, her lungs burned as her body struggled to survive, as the thing wearing Phil Coulson's body killed her slowly.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, Isis let her go. Natasha gasped in deep lungfuls of air, chest heaving, as Isis turned his attention to the ground at his feet.

"Will you stop getting in my way?" Isis shouted, kicking out. James rolled to the side, holding up his good arm to protect his face as Isis kicked him, over and over. Then Isis stopped, straightened up, smoothed his shirt down. "I should kill you now, but I want you to see exactly what you've done. Be quiet!"

James lay curled up on the floor, coughing weakly. He glared up at Isis. "Leave Natalia alone," he managed.

Isis rolled his eyes. "How stupid are you?" he asked. "Of course I'm not going to leave her _alone_. Don't you understand what you've done? You brought me my new host, all prettied up for me." He crouched down to James' level. "The one thing you were always good at was keeping her safe in the field, and you let her walk into an obvious trap. Why was that, soldier? Did you think you'd impress her with your superior skills? Did you want your new puppet masters to see how smart you were?"

"It was my decision," Natasha said quickly, trying to distract Isis. If James tried to attack again, Isis might just beat him to death. "I made the call."

Isis stood slowly, and turned back to Natasha.

Natasha had never been afraid of Phil Coulson, not physically. She'd seen the wisdom of his judgement in the field, and had grown to respect his cunning and strength of character. He could kill her, of course, but he would make it efficient and quick. He would not torture her just to enjoy her pain.

But this thing in Phil Coulson's skin looked at Natasha like he wanted to pull her apart, piece by bloody piece.

Then Isis's expression went blank. "That wasn't very smart, Natasha," he scolded. Moving back to her side, he settled her bra over her breasts and pulled her shirt down. "I thought you were smarter than that. But then, you always did lose all sense when it came to the Winter Soldier." Isis leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Useful enough for my purposes, but still."

"How long have you been following me?" Natasha asked.

A small smile played at the corners of Isis's mouth. "Following you? Dear child, don't you see?" he asked softly. "I _made_ you."

He pushed off the table and walked to the far wall, returning with one of Natasha's knives. "What do you mean, you made me?" Natasha asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see James dragging himself over to the wall in a trail of blood.

"I mean just that," Isis said. He unsheathed the knife and laid the blade flat on Natasha's stomach. "I'm the one who saw the potential in one dirty, starving peasant girl. I'm the one who made you better, stronger, faster." He leaned down, close enough to bite. "And you have become so much more than I had ever hoped for."

The horror of it all crashed down over Natasha, memories of the past pulled out from behind the agony of being strapped to another table, with another person bent over her with that same smile. "Dr. Sokolov," Natasha managed to say, unable to breathe over the memories of the tortures of her childhood, at the hands of the doctor.

"Very good, Natasha," Isis said. He touched her cheek. "And I was also Dr. Ivanov, and Captain Tamm, and Nurse Sidorov, all of them." He ran his finger over her nose, before pulling her lip up to look at her teeth. "I've been watching you since you were just a little girl learning to tie your shoes."

Natasha wrenched her head away. "Why?" she demanded, anger starting to build in her chest. Anger was better than fear. Fear distracted her. Anger was motivating.

"Because what I did to you didn't stop when you got off that table, Natasha," Isis pointed out. "I need to be sure you were trained in the right things, in the right way, so you would not just be able to heal, but to survive."

"You're insane," Natasha said. She didn't have to look at the clock to know she was down to fifteen minutes.

"You needed me to watch out for you as a child," Isis insisted. "You should have heard what those men in the Red Room would have done to a young trainee with your body and reflexes."

Natasha settled her body on the table, trying to let a sense of calm fill her up, push away her emotional reactions.

It had been a long time since the Red Room, but Natasha didn't believe Isis's words. While a few of the adults in the training program might have pushed to use the children for sexual purposes, the majority kept the children safe, kept them fed and warm and protected. Their training of hardship and deprivation had been introduced gradually, after they'd learned to survive.

Yes, it had been painful and not everyone lived through it, but most of the adults had never acted with sadism, only a fervent belief that they were doing the right thing in defence of the Soviet Union.

The result had been the same; dead children scattered across the tundra, but Natasha now knew she couldn't trust anything Isis said.

"Why were you on the helicarrier?" Natasha asked instead.

"The same reason as always," Isis turned the knife around on Natasha's belly. "It took me a few years to find you after you joined SHIELD. I finally found a nice SHIELD engineer and took him as a host. I was on the helicarrier when Loki's people attacked. I always thought the Asgard were different," he said as an aside. "Anyway, taking Coulson as a host was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. One of SHIELD's best operatives." Isis smiled. "Which made getting you here so much easier."

"You're wrong," came a weak voice from the floor. James had pulled himself up against the wall. He was deathly pale. "Natalia was supposed to keep me in line in Department X, she wasn't anyone's science experiment."

Isis shook his head. "As usual, soldier, you get it all backwards," Isis said dismissively. "You were never supposed to be anywhere near her. But Salihov wanted to threaten the children and you were convenient. I return from a week in Moscow and find Natasha's eyes full of stars over you. Do you have any idea how dreary that was? 'The Winter Soldier showed me how to sharpen a knife on a rock today!'" Isis said in a mock child's falsetto. "'He showed me how to field-strip an automatic weapon, isn't that wonderful?' Honestly, it was a relief when you went back into stasis."

"So why did Mikhailov call me the Winter Soldier's failsafe?" Natasha asked.

"Because Mikhailov, like all the others, is a moron," Isis snapped, his eyes flashing. "He never saw how the Winter Soldier could be used to control you, Natasha." Isis put his hand on Natasha's thigh, squeezing possessively. "Once we put him in your bed, I had a way to keep you in line. Whenever I thought you might flee us, we'd bring the Winter Soldier out of stasis and throw him at you."

Mouth dry, trying to keep from focusing on Isis's hand sliding up her thigh to her groin, Natasha said, "What do you mean?"

"In America in 1969, when you were starting to question your orders?" Isis smiled. "We pulled the Winter Soldier out of stasis for some superficial mission in England. He showed up at your feet soon after, as I expected he would. You did a fantastic job captivating him with your feminine wiles."

"Those weren't wiles," Natasha said, looking at James. He was slouched over now, barely able to keep from sliding to the floor. "He's my friend. I care for him."

"Semantics," Isis said, waving Natasha's protest away. "And again, when Mikhailov took over the program, I watched you change, little one. You disagreed with what they were doing in the name of the program, to both you and the Winter Soldier. So I fixed things."

Natasha jerked her wrists against the cuffs. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

Isis looked down at James. "I overloaded his programming, overloaded his mind," Isis said. "When he came off the table, he didn't even remember he was human."

Natasha tried to sit upright, the cuffs holding her down. "He killed four people!" Natasha exclaimed. "He almost died!"

Isis frowned "There was that risk, of course, but what's important is that you were so busy saving his mind that you didn't follow through on those plans you'd made to defect. Oh yes," Isis said, smiling once again. "I knew about your false identity, your money, the itinerary. Not that it would have worked. They'd have found you eventually and executed you for defecting. That's why I didn't decide to take you as a host then; if I'd walked away with you, someone would have come after us."

A soft laugh startled Natasha. "Some big planner you are," James wheezed. "What the hell, letting me get shoved in the fridge in the middle of a mission."

"Are you talking about Romania?" Isis asked. "That wasn't a mistake, soldier." He took the knife in Coulson's slender fingers and walked across the floor. James watched warily as Isis knelt beside him. "Like any good trained animal, there comes a time when you need to cut them loose to see how they fare, unprotected." Isis rested the knife on James' cheek, just under his eye. "You outlived your usefulness to me. I'm the one who gave the order to put you into storage."

James tried to swallow and choked; he sucked in a heaving breath, gasping. "Why would you do that?" he asked in a whisper when he was able.

"What, lock you away? In case I needed you again."

"Why would you turn off the power?" James asked, voice so quiet Natasha could barely hear him. "Why'd you make me fight my way out of stasis?"

The sudden silence from Isis helped Natasha piece together the series of events. "You didn't," she said, kicking her leg against the manacle. "You never expected the Winter Soldier to get free on his own."

The angry look Isis threw her way nearly made her close her mouth, but it got him and the knife up and away from James.

"How long did it take to find him?" Natasha asked recklessly. "What did he remember before you found him?"

Isis slammed his hands down on either side of Natasha's head, making her flinch. "Do you understand what he risked undoing?" Isis hissed. "All my hard work, all my planning, all of this!" He waved his hand around the room. "All of this, everything I've done, for you!"

"All of what?" Natasha demanded, a hint of hysteria shuddering through her words. "A metal box where you take away everything that I am? Where you kill a man who's important to me?"

"A monster!" Isis exclaimed. He grabbed Natasha's head and forced her to look at James. "A monster good for nothing but carnage! Everything he touches turned to blood, Natasha!"

"If he was such a monster, why did you leave me in his care as a child?"

Isis leaned over Natasha. "Because I needed you to be the better monster," he whispered, Phil Coulson's lips brushing her ear. "And it worked, didn't it?"

"Why would you do that?" Natasha asked. James was staring at her, barely blinking. He had lost so much blood; Natasha didn't know how he was still alive.

"Because I needed you." Isis kissed Natasha's cheek, his dry lips like sandpaper on her skin. "I needed someone who could slay the dragons in their dens. And look at you, all grown up." He brushed his nose against her temple, his breath hot on her skin. Bile rose in her throat, but she had to stay focused. Stop Isis. Save James.

"So you wanted me to fight monsters?" Natasha said, trying to reason. "Why didn't you send someone else? If you wanted me to be your host, why would you risk me being killed?"

"You needed to have the reflexes, the skills, so I can survive when we become one." Isis pulled back, looking at Natasha with a terrible smile. "And you performed perfectly." He put his hand around her neck. "I never thanked you for killing my brother."

Brother. It took Natasha a moment to realize that Isis was speaking about Seth. Regardless of the fingers around her throat, she tried to sit up. "You sent me in there?" Natasha demanded. "Seth nearly killed me!"

"That wasn't part of my plan, but you did perform admirably under the circumstances," Isis said, shoving Natasha onto her back. "I needed to know if you'd be able to kill a Goa'uld."

"I'm not the monster," Natasha choked out, arching her back as she struggled. "You are!"

Isis rolled his eyes. "This monster speech of yours is so cliché," he said. "I will have to improve your vocabulary, no doubt."

And for emphasis, he backhanded Natasha across the face.

"Hey," James breathed out. "Hey!" he said louder.

Isis took his hand off Natasha's throat. "What?"

James smiled, a death's head grin. "If you didn't need me, what the hell have I been doing for the last few months?"

"You mean running around the world like a fool, after objects no one needed?" Isis said. "It kept you distracted. It kept you away from Natasha." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I knew you'd screw up, eventually. You never were able to keep away from Natasha. So I accelerated the schedule to use that to my advantage."

"Sent me after aliens," James breathed. He closed his eyes for a long moment. "All of it was just... nothing."

"The database, the weapons, all a house of cards." Isis caressed Natasha's cheek. "This was my end game all along. All the rest of it... well, Earth technology being what it is, I can make most everything I need myself. But to steal such a beautiful host so completely, so no one comes looking for her..." Isis sighed. "That was something I could never have accomplished without you, soldier."

James' head slipped down to his shoulder. "All you do is talk," he got out. "I don't want to hear anymore. Kill me."

"Oh, but I'm not going to kill you," Isis said. "At least, not like this." He gestured down at Phil Coulson's body. "In four minutes, I'm going to take Natasha as a host at last." He smiled, an expression of anticipation and delight. To see such an expression on Phil Coulson's face made Natasha want to scream. "And when the time is up and the cuffs release, I am going to stand up, and the woman you once knew as Natasha Romanova, she will be the one to kill you."

Natasha strained toward James, the pressure of the manacles sharp and painful against her bruises. "I'm never going to do that," she told Isis.

"You think you'll be able to stop be from controlling you?" Isis asked. "Do you know how a Goa'uld controls their host?"

He bent over her again, curling one hand around her throat.

"We go right here." He pressed against the back of her neck, where spine met skull. "Where all that pesky hindbrain stuff happens. We control all movement, breathing, speech, all of it. Only," he added, tracing his finger up her jaw to her temple. "You're still in here. All those thoughts that make you who you are, you get to keep those. It's going to be me and you for a very long time."

"I'd rather die," Natasha said.

"You don't get a choice." Isis touched her lips with his thumb. "The only thing I regret is not giving myself more time with you, tied down like this. It's a shame I'll never get to experience your talents from the outside." He leaned against the table, running his hand over Natasha's breast. "I will just have to live vicariously through Phil Coulson's memories. And oh the memories he has, of fucking you."

Natasha went still, alarms screaming in her head. That wasn't right, that wasn't _right_. She had never slept with Phil Coulson, not even once. He'd seen her mostly naked on more than one mission, but they'd never slept together, never even kissed. So why was Isis convinced that they had?

Someone had said that the Goa'uld could access all the thoughts of their hosts, all their memories. If Isis thought that Phil and Natasha had once been intimate...

Natasha took a deep breath, blood-scented air knocking the cobwebs clear in her mind.

If Coulson had managed to convince Isis of that false memory, then Coulson still had to be in there somewhere.

If he was in there, she might be able to save him after all.

He might be able to help her.

"You know they're going to send Clint Barton after me," Natasha said.

"What will he find?" Isis asked. "After I take you as my new host, I will burn this place to ash. All they will find of these bodies will be carbon from the bones and the soldier's metal arm." He smiled. "That's why Barton will never find you. Because they will think you are already dead.

Natasha refused to let herself be distracted by his plans of annihilation. "I don't mean here," she said, using every ounce of will power and nerve to make her voice shake slightly, as if the Goa'uld's threats were finally starting to rattle her. "If they can't find me, the first place they'll send Clint will be the warehouse in Las Vegas."

"What's your point?" Isis asked.

The first thing Hawkeye would see in the Las Vegas warehouse was the _danger_ sign, and it would take him no time at all to realize exactly who had put it there. It had been scratched in the glass with a fingertip, and Clint would see the width and height of the marking and he would _know_ something was terribly wrong. He might not believe it was Coulson, but after having seen that marking, Clint would never stop looking for Natasha.

Phil Coulson would know that.

Adrenaline surged through Natasha's body. Only two more minutes. If she could keep Isis talking, maybe Phil Coulson could do something inside his own body, something to delay the Goa'uld.

As Natasha tried to think how to escape the manacles early, James let out a wheezing laugh. "Scooby dooby do," he rasped, his grin too wide in his pale face.

Isis frowned, turning around. "What?"

"You'd have gotten away with it, too," James said as he reached up and hooked one finger in the chain around his neck, and pulled. Slowly, the dog tags slid out of his shirt, along with the small silver disc. "Except for that meddling kid."

The green light in the centre of the silver disc glowed like emeralds under a setting sun.

"While you kept going on like a HYDRA villain," James said, saying each word clearly, stronger than Natasha would have thought possible, "Stargate Command's been tracking us down. They're here now, they're coming for you!"

Isis whirled around to the monitors. On the screens, in stark black and white, small figures were moving through the complex. One of them held Captain America's shield on his arm.

"They're coming for you!" James said, glaring at Isis with eyes unnaturally bright. "If you take Natasha as a host now, they'll get you! And you can't get her out of those cuffs for another minute!"

Isis screamed, slamming his hands down against the table, denting the metal.

"If you run, you can try again," James said. His breathing was ragged, thin, as if he couldn't get enough air. "Run!"

Isis looked at the countdown timer (fifty-seven seconds) and then at the monitors (the armed soldiers were growing closer, closer). Phil Coulson's face contorted into a mask of rage as he let out another scream.

He took a handful of Natasha's hair and pulled her head back at such a sharp angle she thought her neck would break. "I'm going to have you, one day," Isis snarled, his eyes glowing. "You will be mine!"

Then he let go of Natasha, and bolted out of the room.

(Forty-eight seconds.)

"James," Natasha called, fighting against the manacles in case they might loosen early. "James!"

After his burst of energy, James had slumped down against the wall. He couldn't make his eyes focus. "Run," he whispered again. "Run."

"James, he's gone," Natasha said. "James, I need you to stay with me!"

(Forty seconds.)

"Gone," James whispered. His jaw hung slack, his eyelids drooping. " 'S gone."

Then he was silent. Natasha couldn't see any sign he was breathing.

"Please, hold on!" Natasha cried. "I need you to hold on!"

No response.

(Twenty-one seconds.)

" _Soldat_!" Natasha screamed. The man's head jerked, and he fought to open his eyes. "Stay awake, soldier, that's an order!" she said in Russian.

James' head bobbed, his chin dropping to his chest. "Can't," was all he said.

(Fifteen seconds.)

(Eleven seconds.)

(Eight seconds.)

Was that a sound down the hallway she heard?

(Six seconds.)

She couldn't hear James breathing.

(Three seconds.)

Natasha took in a deep breath and let it out, willing herself to be ready, willing herself to be strong. The Goa'uld may have manipulated her body and her mind since childhood, but she was nobody's puppet, no one's slave. She was her own person.

And she was going to find Isis and destroy him.

(Zero.)

Something shifted deep in the table, and Natasha felt the tension in the cuffs loosen slightly. She shook her hands, twisted her legs as the metal unlatched, and Natasha pulled free.

She practically fell off the table, her legs stiff and unresponsive. Her feet landed in a puddle of blood and she slipped, stumbled. In another step, she was at James' side, taking his head in her hands, lifting his face to the light.

"James?" she whispered, trying to feel for a pulse. His skin was cold and clammy, sickeningly like the skin of a corpse.

But his eyelids flickered, his chest moved slightly as he breathed. "Nat... Natalia," he whispered. His eyes couldn't focus. " 'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said, kissing his forehead. "I'm going to get the Goa'uld and then I'm going to come back for you, do you understand?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "And I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt."

She quickly tightened the tourniquet on the stump of James' mangled arm. He was so far gone he didn't even scream, just let out a harsh breath.

"You stay alive, soldier," Natasha ordered. "We've got unfinished business."

Natasha stood, grabbing the knives on the counter. The Goa'uld hadn't brought along any of her guns, but she could make do with blades.

" 'Tal..."

Natasha knelt beside James. "What?"

He tried to focus his eyes. "Love you," he breathed.

Natasha kissed him again, this time on the lips. "I love you too," she said, pushing down her tears. "And when this is all over, you and I are going to have a long talk."

She touched his cheek, just because, and then made herself stand and run out of the room, leaving James behind.

She had no choice. She couldn't help James, not until she'd found the Goa'uld and eliminated the threat.

The corridors outside the metal room were dark, unfinished and dry. It seemed as if they were in the basement of an abandoned building. Natasha slid one sheathed knife into her pocket and held the other in her teeth while she fastened her bra behind her back, never slowing her step.

Up ahead was a bend in the corridor. Natasha pulled her shirt down and yanked the knife in her teeth from its sheath, holding the naked blade ready in her right hand. The floor was hard and held no footprints.

Despite what Natasha had seen of SG-19 on the monitors, there was no sound of footsteps. If SG-19 and John and Steve really were in the building, she risked running into them as she tracked Isis.

But they were highly trained military men, all of them. She might run into them, and had to trust they wouldn't open fire on her without thinking.

Both Steve and John knew that Phil Coulson was supposed to be dead; if they saw him strolling around the complex, they would question what was going on.

Which left the problem of actually finding Isis. Natasha had never tracked a Goa'uld before, had no idea how they thought. But she knew Phil Coulson, how he thought, his techniques and methods. If a Goa'uld could be influenced by its host's physical reactions, then maybe she didn't need to track the Goa'uld. She needed to track Coulson.

In every training exercise he'd ever run, Phil Coulson always turned left. At the bend of the hallway, Natasha turned left.

The only sounds Natasha could hear were those of her own breathing, her own soft footsteps. The air around her was silent and dry, and that didn't mean a thing. She knew how quiet Coulson could be in the field.

Another split in the hallway, and a door in the wall. Natasha would have gone down the corridor, but she spotted a small scuff on the concrete floor by the door, as if someone had recently gone that way.

Isis could be behind the door.

It could be a trap.

Natasha went through the door anyway.

It opened into a large boiler room, all pipes and grating, silent now. The lights in the ceiling were high overhead, barely offering any illumination down on the floor.

A perfect place to die.

Natasha took a breath, adrenaline flooding her veins. She had to stop Isis, that was her only goal. For what he had done to James, to Coulson.

A shadow moved across the ceiling. Natasha pressed herself back into the shadows, moving over the floor with silent feet.

"I know you're here," came the voice, echoing. "I can sense your presence."

If he could sense her presence, then he'd attack first; or if it was bullshit like Natasha suspected, then he could just keep talking. Natasha would find him easier that way.

"Think about all the good things we could do together, my child," Isis said. The echo of his voice modulated, and Natasha went to the right. "We could fight against the darkness, finally stop all those men who do so much evil in the world."

Natasha refused to be baited. She stepped noiselessly up a short ladder, chancing a dash through the open to find better cover along the far wall.

"I was so proud, watching you," Isis said. "You've always fought hard, never letting anyone stop you. When we first brought you into the Red Room, the officers said that no peasant child with the name of a tyrant would ever amount to anything, but you proved them wrong, didn't you?"

Natasha could see Isis now, a dark shape on a high grating. He was looking away from her, his hands on the railing.

"You were so smart, so tenacious as a child," Isis went on. "That was why I picked you, of all the children. I suspected that you were hardy enough to survive the experimentation process, and I was right. You've always been strong."

James was right; Isis did monologue like a HYDRA agent. She moved closer.

"You outlived everyone else, but you and I were always meant to be together," Isis said. Natasha was nearly on top of him now, crouching on a thick metal pipe. "And we will be."

With inhuman speed, Isis spun around and grabbed Natasha's ankle, pulling her off the pipe and slamming her the metal grating. He grabbed her head and moved as if he would kiss her, his hands stronger than any human, but Natasha was strong too; Isis had made her that way.

She slammed her knife hilt-first into Coulson's cheek and kicked him hard in the crotch. The man stumbled back and grabbed the railing, but Natasha didn't stop. She swept Isis's feet out from under him and drove her knife into the muscle on Isis's left bicep. He left go of the railing and fell, his back slamming onto the grating.

Natasha should have stood back, found something with which to tie him up and wait for John's team, but she could still smell James' blood on her clothing, could hear his agonized screams as Isis had ripped his arm from his body. Her fury and anger at the Goa'uld drove her to her knees, straddling his body, as she hit him in the head as hard as she could. Isis fought back, grabbing her arms and trying to wrestle Natasha to the ground. She pushed back at him, trying to keep him as far from her as possible, not knowing how close a Goa'uld had to be to take her as a host.

(Was that a sound down on the floor she heard?)

Isis wrapped his legs around hers, throwing her off-balance. Her shoulder hit the grating hard and her elbows buckled. Isis took advantage of the movement, grabbing her in a tight embrace and pulling her head close to his. He opened his mouth, lowered his face...

And turned away.

He turned away, closed his mouth, hands loosening on her shoulders. The hesitation was brief, less than a second, but Natasha didn't stop to think about it. She arched her body and hit out, getting away from Isis and scuttling back on the grating, ready for the next blow.

"Down!" shouted a new voice, and Natasha didn't think about it, just collapsed and covered her head.

The blasts from the energy rifles came from two directions, hitting Isis in the chest and the hip. Unlike the Winter Soldier in Area 51, this didn't stop Isis. The Goa'uld reached for Natasha, his eyes glowing gold. "You're mine!" he snarled.

More energy blasts, over and over, and Isis finally fell. John advanced down the ramp, his weapon held ready. Natasha had never seen that expression on her son's face, cold and deadly fury in his eyes.

"Mom?" John said, never taking his eyes off Isis. "What's up?"

"That's Isis," she said, grabbing the railing and pulling herself to her feet. "What took you so long?"

"We're in Texas now," John said as Captain Brown and Lt. Cheeks came up the ramp. Brown held an energy rifle, while Cheeks aimed his P-90 at the Goa'uld. "Took a bit of time to find Barnes' emergency tracker on the map."

Brown used the barrel of his rifle to push Isis onto his back. "Doesn't look like much," Cheeks said.

John swore. "Hold on, is that _Coulson_?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"I thought he was dead."

"An exaggeration." Natasha turned around, trying to orient herself. "Where's Steve?"

"He and Williams went after the location of the Wraith tracker I gave Barnes," John said. Cheeks and Brown started to tie up Isis. "Where is Barnes, anyway?"

Natasha gripped the railing. Now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off, the emotional wall she'd put up was starting to crumble. She didn't know how James could still be alive, not after losing that much blood, but she had to go find out.

She just didn't know if she could survive seeing his dead body, not again.

Distantly, as she made her way down the ramp, she could hear John calling for Ryder to coordinate with the others for Goa'uld transport. She was at the door of the room when John caught up with her. In the hallway, with nothing impeding her path, Natasha broke into a shuffling run.

The corridors went on forever, like a horrible nightmare where Natasha could run and run and never get there in time, only this wasn't a nightmare, this was real, and the only thing she would find at the end of this run was James, dying.

She heard the voices before she got to the room, Steve's voice, pleading, and she ran faster.

"Bucky, you gotta hang in there, I promise we'll get you out of this," Steve was saying as Natasha skidded through the doorway. Steve was on his knees by the wall, James in his arms. Standing guard, Williams watched helplessly as Natasha crossed the room to James' side.

Through some miracle, the man was still alive. He looked at her when she took his face in her hands, and the corners of his mouth moved into what might have been a smile. "Came back."

"I always come back for you, idiot," Natasha said, grief rising in her throat. "You know that."

"Where..." His voice trailed off, and his hand gripped at Steve's sleeve.

"We got the bad guy," Natasha said, swallowing hard. "Now you need to listen to Steve, we'll have you fixed up in no time."

James turned his head, looking at Steve. "Always was... bossy," he breathed.

Steve sucked in a breath, trying to smile. "You better believe it," he said. His voice was thick. "You're going to be calling me that for a long time, do you hear?"

"Sir," Williams was saying to John. "Even if we can get Sgt. Barnes back to the surface in time, it's a long flight to the SGC, I don't think he's going to—"

"What are our options?" John interrupted.

"I don't know if we have any."

James' fingers loosened on Steve's jacket. "Hey," he whispered. He looked from Natasha to Steve. "You..."

"Yeah?" Steve moved his arm, supporting James' weight.

"Take care of her," James said. He grabbed Steve's collar. "Please."

"Sir, what should we do?" Williams asked.

John ran his hand over his head and looked at Natasha. There was an apology in his eyes, and Natasha knew they had run out of time.

"You know I will," Steve told James. "But you'll be fine, we'll get you out of here—"

But James' eyes drifted shut and his jaw went slack. Natasha grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard. "James!"

James didn't respond.

Steve let out a small pained moan, and pressed his forehead against the top of James' head. Natasha wanted to scream, to rage. She touched James' cheek, the faint prickle of stubble under her fingers, his skin cold.

She was going to lose him again.

"Sir!" Williams said, his voice loud in the stillness. "Ryder's on the horn from the Jumper. The _Hammond_ _'s_ almost here!"

John slapped his earpiece. "Ryder, patch me through!" He looked at Natasha with something resembling hope in his eyes. "Sam! I need a favour!"

Steve looked up at Natasha, confused. She grabbed at his sleeve, not daring to hope.

"I've got a man down, needs immediate medical attention. Can you do a site-to-site transport?" John frowned at the response. "No, he doesn't have two minutes. How about a relay transport?"

As John spoke, Williams knelt at Steve's side. "Just hold on," Williams said with an encouraging smile.

"Roger that!" John turned to the group on the floor. "Carter's going to have to beam you to the _Hammond_ , then back to the SGC. Don't forget to breathe."

Before Natasha could ask what John meant by that, a bright light filled her senses. When the light faded, the metal room had disappeared and they were in another place, with grey walls and weird consoles and people in dark jumpsuits staring at them.

"Programming in coordinates for the SGC medical bay," said the woman behind the console, and the light rose again and swallowed them up.

When the lights faded this time, they were in the SGC infirmary, with people running towards them. Dr. Lam was there, pushing Steve to the side as hands stretched James out on the floor. There was shouting for things, and Williams pulled Natasha and Steve out of the way as doctors and nurses lifted James onto a gurney, attaching wires to him and cutting away his clothing.

"What happened?" Dr. Lam asked, examining James' arm stump with a bright light.

Natasha tried to speak, but her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed and said, "The Goa'uld ripped his metal arm off. He had... part of his real arm was still in there."

"He's crashing," Dr. Lam said with the detached calm of a medical professional. "We need to get his levels back up."

Nurses were attaching bags of blood to the bed, running tubes over James' body into his good arm and into his leg.

"Clear the area," Dr. Lam said, raising her voice. "Prep surgery, and someone get Dr. Brooks down here from the base hospital, now!"

"Dr. Brooks is one of the best surgeons in the Air Force," Williams said, physically moving Natasha and Steve away from the medical team. "He really is."

"There's got to be something we can do," Steve protested. He hadn't taken his eyes off James since they'd been beamed into the infirmary.

"Are you a doctor now?" Williams asked, stepping in front of Steve. "Come on, Captain, these guys are the doing their best." He handed Steve his shield, which Steve had left on the floor of the metal room in Texas. "You need to step back and wait.

Steve took his shield and put it on the chair behind him. "I just... I can't lose him again."

Natasha watched the doctors and nurses working frantically over James. His torso was bruised from where Isis had kicked him; where there were no bruises, he was as pale as milk. Natasha couldn't make herself look at the stump of his arm. She knew what she would see there; raw meat and broken shards of bone.

"What's going on?" Jack O'Neill walked up behind them. "Captain?"

"We located Sgt. Barnes and Agent Romanoff," Williams said smartly. "Isis was also located. Colonel Sheppard is arranging transport for him."

"Good," Jack said. "Has anyone looked after Agent Romanoff?"

"I'm fine," she said distantly.

Jack gave her a disbelieving look. "You look like you're going to fall over," he said, but gently. "Let one of the nurses make sure you're okay."

"They need to take care of him," Natasha objected.

"Dr. Lam's got this covered, don't worry about that." Jack glanced at Steve. "Is any of that blood yours, Captain?"

Steve shook his head. "Not mine, sir."

A commotion, and Vala careened into the infirmary. "Is it true?" she asked. "They've captured Isis?"

"Yeah, Sheppard's booking him into the detention cells right now," Jack said. "Moving him by the _Hammond_ _'s_ transporter was safer than bringing him back on the Puddlejumper. We'll have the doctors look at him later."

Booking him into the cells. The detention cells where James had spent a day. Just a few floors from the infirmary.

Natasha's hands balled into fists. Isis was close by and was no longer a threat, but it was too late. James had nearly died; he still might. All because the Goa'uld wanted to show how powerful he was, making James suffer.

Natasha turned away from where they were working on James and moved towards the door. "Wait, where are you going?" Vala demanded, getting in Natasha's way.

"I'm going to have a few words with Isis," Natasha said, trying to step around Vala.

"That's a really bad idea," Vala said. She put her hands on Natasha's shoulders and held her in place.

"You don't understand," Natasha protested. "What he did? First taking one of my friends as a host, then trying to kill James? You can't expect me to let him get away with that!"

Vala carefully shoved Natasha against the wall. "Going to see the Goa'uld now is a bad idea," she said vehemently. "Trust me, if Isis's host is a friend of yours, then going to see him like this isn't going to help anything!"

"Vala's right," Jack said. "Just give it a little time. Wait until Sgt. Barnes is out of surgery, okay?"

"Wait, what friend?" Steve asked, frowning at Natasha. "Who is Isis's host?"

"Phil Coulson."

Steve's look of utter incredulity was to be expected. "Natasha, Coulson died on the helicarrier."

"Yeah, I thought that too," Natasha said, pushing Vala away from her. "I never saw his body, did you?"

"No, but Fury said—"

"Fury was wrong. Isis said he took Coulson as a host after Phil was declared dead."

Before Steve could come up with something else to say, a nurse came over to the group. She was outfitted in clean scrubs and had already gloved up. "Agent Romanoff?" she said. "I can examine you now."

"I'll wait until Sgt. Barnes is out of surgery," Natasha said.

The nurse carefully took one of Natasha's hands in hers, and pushed Natasha's jacket sleeve up over her wrist. Natasha sucked in a breath at the unexpected pain, as the cloth stuck to the wounds on her arms.

Natasha hadn't realized it was that bad.

"I should clean this up right away," the nurse said, guiding Natasha away from the group and over to an examination bed.

"No," Natasha objected as the nurse tried to pull the curtain around the bed. "I need to see him."

The nurse left the curtain open, and set to work on Natasha. It hurt, pulling the cloth out of the cuts and abraisions, but Natasha made no sound of protest as the nurse cleaned and bandaged the wounds, then set to work on Natasha's legs.

Natasha only had eyes for the gurney where James lay, surrounded by the medical team. A depleted bag of blood was replaced with a new one as the doctors bent over James' ruined arm. Another doctor joined them, and they talked and examined and talked some more.

"What are they going to do?" Steve asked after a while, sitting on the examination bed beside Natasha's.

"Other than save his life? What can they do?" Natasha responded.

"I don't know."

They sat there for a while, as the nurse looked at Natasha's head wounds and pronounced that there were no broken bones. She gave Natasha a bottle of water and firm orders to hydrate.

After a little while longer, Dr. Lam came over to Natasha's bed. "Agent Romanoff," the woman said. "Sgt. Barnes put you on his medical forms in the event he was unable to make medical decisions. I need to discuss what happens next with him."

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked, stomach dropping. Was he going to die?

"Given the type and extent of the damage, we need to amputate what remains of the upper arm," Dr. Lam said. "It appears that the Goa'uld twisted Sgt. Barnes's arm from his body. With that, and the length of the time the tourniquet has been on, there's no way to salvage any of the humerus or surrounding tissue. We're going to need to take it all out."

Natasha blinked at the doctor. "Can't you do something else?" she asked.

"We can't," Dr. Lam said. "Sgt. Barnes's arm already had reduced blood flow from the initial amputation years ago, that's likely the only reason he didn't bleed out sooner. The problem isn't the flesh or what's left of the muscles, it's the bone."

"What do you need from me?" Natasha asked.

"I need you to understand what we're doing," Dr. Lam said. "Also, given the trauma that Sgt. Barnes has been through, there's a risk that he might die on the operating table."

Steve made a small noise of protest, but Natasha straightened her back. "Is there any other way?"

"We need to fix the blood flow issue now," Dr. Lam said firmly. "If we wait any longer, the interrupted blood flow might cause more tissue death."

Natasha took in a deep breath. "Fine," she said after a moment. "But if his heart stops on the operating table, you bring him back."

Dr. Lam patted Natasha's hand. "We'll do everything in our power to save him," she said, then walked away.

Slowly, Steve stood up and sat beside Natasha on the examination bed. "You know," Steve said as the medical team hurried to move James into the operating room, "This morning, I was so angry at him, I just wanted to pound some sense into him."

That morning. Had it only been that morning when they'd found out that the Winter Soldier knew that he was James Buchanan Barnes? That he remembered part of his life before he became the Winter Soldier?

"Now it's just..." Steve sighed. "I don't care if he hates me for the rest of my life, I just want him to live."

Natasha put her hand on Steve's, curled her fingers around his palm. "He has to live," she said, watching as they wheeled James out of her sight. "I'm not going to lose him again."

Carefully, Steve squeezed her hand. "He'll make it."

The gurney disappeared, and a thick stillness fell over the infirmary. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then, Steve asked, "Isis's host is really Coulson?"

"Yeah," Natasha said, extracting her hand from Steve's. "He's going to be so pissed, when they get the Goa'uld out of him."

"What?" Steve asked, startled.

"That Fury ruined his Captain America trading cards." Natasha slid to the ground. Every step hurt, but she had something she had to do.

She made her way over to the nurses' station, picked up the phone, and dialled a familiar number. After a handful of rings, the line clicked, and Clint said, "Hello?"

"Hey," Natasha said, her voice catching in her throat. She coughed once. "It's me."

Clint's wariness transformed into concern. "What happened, Nat?"

The words felt like worms in her mouth as she said, "It's Coulson, Clint. Phil's alive."

_To be continued._


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Sgt. James Barnes had been in surgery for two hours when Clint Barton and Nick Fury walked into the SGC infirmary.

Natasha, who was sitting by the nurses' station holding an ice pack to her face, let her hand fall to her lap as the men came into view. She'd known Clint would come, how could he not? But she hadn't expected Nicky Fury himself to make the trip to Colorado.

"Nat," Clint said as he brushed past Fury. "What the hell is going on?"

Natasha stood up. "I told you on the phone," she said as Clint stopped in front of her, his hands clenched. "The Goa'uld Isis has control of Phil Coulson's body. But Coulson... Coulson's still in there, Clint."

Clint's jaw was set, stress lining his face, and it was only because Natasha knew him so well that she could see the grief and anger and hurt he was trying so hard to hide. "The Goa'uld did this to you?"

Natasha knew what he meant; the bruises from Isis's rough treatment had blossomed into dark reds and purples on her face and her throat. Her skin would be clear again within a day, but for now, she looked bad.

She put her hands on Clint's shoulders. "I'll be okay," she said softly.

"And if I'd been there with you?"

They'd had this conversation more than once in the course of their partnership. When one of them went off on a solo mission and returned beaten up, the question invariably came around if the other should have been there as backup. They'd had this talk after Loki took Clint, only Natasha had been on the other side of the equation then.

Natasha stepped into Clint's personal space and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her in return. "He'd have killed you right away," Natasha said against his neck. She looked over Clint's shoulder at Fury. "The only reason Isis didn't kill Barnes right away was that he wanted to gloat."

Fury returned Natasha's gaze steadily. "Where is this Barnes character now?"

"He's still in surgery," said Steve, coming up behind Fury. Steve had changed out of his gore-soaked clothing and washed James' blood off his hands. Whatever he'd been feeling when they'd taken James into surgery was gone now, replaced with pure anger. "You know," he said to Fury, "The last time we talked about Phil Coulson, you used his death to motivate us to keep up the fight against Loki."

"The last time we talked about Phil Coulson, the man was already dead," Fury corrected. "I was looking at him when the medical team pronounced him dead."

"So how the hell does he end up trying to kill Bucky and Natasha?" Steve demanded. He picked up the tablet from Natasha's chair and showed Fury the screen. On it, Isis sat shackled hand and foot to a solid metal chair, his clothing still spattered with James' blood.

The Goa'uld's expression was pure Phil Coulson boredom.

"Fuck," Clint muttered, letting go of Natasha as Fury took the tablet from Steve's hand. He stared at the screen for a long moment before looking up.

"How the hell did this happen?" Fury demanded, his voice low with anger.

"Isis said that he was on the helicarrier during the air fight, in another host," Natasha said as she wrapped her arms around herself. "He said Coulson wasn't really dead, just mostly, so he took Coulson as a host."

"And can you explain to me how some alien gets himself on my ship in the first place?" Fury demanded.

"He was in one of the engineers," Natasha said.

"Why?" Fury pressed. "Was he trying to sabotage my ship? Infiltrate SHIELD systems?"

The remembered pressure of that metal room, of Isis's touch, the overwhelming stench of blood in the air, washed over Natasha and stole her breath for a moment. She ruthlessly shoved the memory away. "He wasn't after anything from SHIELD," she said, making herself meet Fury's stare. "He was after me. He's always been after me."

"What do you mean?" Fury asked.

At Natasha's side, Clint put his hand on her back. She leaned into the touch. "Isis has been watching me for years. He said he'd been waiting until the right time to take me as a host." She took a deep breath. "He was one of the Soviet doctors who made me the way I am."

"What the hell for?" Clint asked.

Natasha clenched her left hand into a fist, feeling the painful pull of healing skin under her bandages. "He wanted a perfect host," she said, the words heavy on her tongue. "A host that would never age, that would heal quickly. He used what he found in Coulson's head to come after me after all these years."

"And Bucky," Steve interjected. "He used Bucky to get to you, and then nearly killed him."

"Where is Sgt. Barnes?" Fury asked. "This is the Winter Soldier we're talking about, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." Natasha stood straight. "He's in surgery."

"What happened to him?"

"Isis ripped his arm off," Steve said. He pushed his hair back from his face with both hands. "Bucky nearly bled to death before we found him."

"Is he going to make it?" Clint asked.

"We don't know," Steve said. "He lost so much blood... I don't know how he held out as long as he did."

"Stubbornness," Natasha interjected. "He's always been too stubborn for his own good."

It was one of the things she loved about the man; his stubborn determination, his tenacity; never giving up even when there was no hope of survival.

She couldn't lose him now, not after everything that had happened.

Fury crossed his arms. "Let me see if I have this right," he said. Natasha winced at his tone. "A mind-controlling alien, which has been following Agent Romanoff for decades, resurrected Agent Coulson after he was killed by Loki, and has spent the last year fucking around with the help of the Winter Soldier."

"Looks that way," Steve responded.

Fury turned to Natasha. "How much of Coulson is left in there?"

"He's in there," Natasha replied. "He has to be. He gave Isis false information on at least one occasion."

"Such as?"

"The Goa'uld can access their host's memories," Natasha said. "And Phil convinced Isis that we had at one time been sexually intimate."

Fury's eyebrow went up.

"In addition, there was a marker at the Las Vegas drop site," Natasha went on. "It was one of the ones Clint developed with Coulson and myself for field use."

"Which one?" Clint asked.

"The one warning about extreme danger." Natasha touched her neck, where the healing bruises were starting to itch. "That's what got us running in the first place, when I saw that."

"You and the Winter Soldier," Fury clarified.

"Myself and Sgt. Barnes," Natasha told him. "Sgt. James Barnes has been recalled to active duty with Stargate Command."

Fury fixed Natasha with a glare. "The Air Force just decided it was okay to bring in a rogue agent?"

"There's precedent," came a new voice. John Sheppard and Jack O'Neill were on their way across the infirmary floor. John had changed back into his uniform, looking nearly presentable as he smiled at Fury. "The Russians were particularly helpful when it came to detailing Sgt. Barnes's past."

"Is that so," Fury said, narrowing his eye.

"Sure is," John said. "But we've got a bigger problem at the moment."

Natasha's shoulders sagged. What else had gone wrong now?

"We've got to deal with Isis," General O'Neill said. "The Tok'ra want him executed for crimes against the human race—"

"There is no goddamn way--" Fury interrupted.

Jack held up his hand. "They want Isis, not your agent," he said. "This is probably the best solution we have at this point. If the Tok'ra can extract Isis from Agent Coulson, we let them deal with the Goa'uld and you get your man back."

"If," Clint said. "You said, if they can do that thing. What happens if they can't?"

Jack's face was grave. "The extraction process isn't without risks. In some cases, the host can die."

"So either Coulson dies with this thing in his head, or he might die when you try to take it out," Fury said. "What's our third option?"

"Well, we're not letting Isis go." John took the tablet from Fury. "We're waiting to hear back from the Tok'ra what they can do next, but the representatives we had on one of our deep-space ships made it pretty clear about what they want to do."

"So Coulson might still die," Clint said. "After all this, we might not get him back."

"There's that possibility, yes."

There was a moment of silence, then Jack cleared his throat. "Look, we don't know how long it's going to take to hear back from the Tok'ra. In the meantime, it might be useful if someone goes to talk to the Goa'uld. Director Fury, are you in?"

"What do you want to get out of him?" Fury asked.

"I want to know what else he might be up to. You know Coulson, you might be able to get a better idea of what's happening."

Fury squared his shoulders. "You bet I'm in. Barton, I want you in on this too."

Clint nodded. "Sir."

While Jack guided Fury and Clint out of the infirmary, John took Natasha to the side. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

Natasha slipped her hand around her son's elbow and leaned against him. She was tired and she ached, deep down to her bones. "I don't know," she confessed.

John put his free arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you," he said quietly. "That's why I gave Barnes that location tracker, in case your transmitters got damaged, but I didn't think..." He sighed against her hair. "I'm sorry, mom."

Natasha pulled back, taking John's chin in her fingers and making him look at her. "You did not do this," she said firmly. "We both knew that we were walking into a trap."

"That's not how it works," John said. "I was in charge of the mission, this all rolls up to me."

"John." Natasha touched John's cheek. "When we went into that warehouse, everyone thought this had to do with the Area 51 database. How could we know that wasn't what Isis was after?"

"If we'd known the Goa'uld was after you, I'd never have authorized this mission," John said.

"And we never would have caught Isis," Natasha told him. "Don't second-guess yourself here, John. It's too late for that."

John rubbed his eyes. "Any word on how Barnes is doing in surgery?"

"None yet," Natasha said.

John looked around the infirmary. Things were quiet now, with Steve sitting on one of the examination beds, watching the tablet, while the nurses went about their business. "It's been a hell of a day."

Natasha rested her forehead against John's shoulder. Had it only been that morning she'd woken up in the Winter Soldier's embrace? That he had admitted remembering part of his past as James Barnes?

John squeezed her arm as he pulled away. "I need to go check in with SG-19," he said. "They're supervising the teams dismantling Isis's hideout. I want to see if they figured out how Isis managed to get the transport rings to move things in a non-linear direction."

Natasha didn't understand half of what John had just said, but she would figure it out later. "I will be here."

John smiled, and left the infirmary.

Carefully, Natasha made her way over to the examination bed where Steve sat. She propped herself against the bed, and Steve tilted the tablet so she could see the screen. Isis still sat chained to his chair, but the camera angle had pulled back to show the entire room.

"Did Colonel Sheppard have any news about Bucky?" Steve asked.

"No." Natasha heaved herself up onto the bed, every muscle in her body protesting. "The teams are working on Isis's lair."

Steve let out a heavy sigh. "What do you think Bucky's chances are?"

Natasha let herself slump against Steve's side, too tired and in too much pain to care about appearances. "I want him to live," she said. "That's all I know."

"How did it happen?" Steve asked, staring at Isis on the screen. "How did Isis take Bucky's arm off? Was he..." Steve swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Was Bucky awake when it happened? Did he know what was happening?"

"Steve."

"I should have been there," Steve said, still staring at the screen. "I could have helped Bucky—"

"Isis would have killed you both," Natasha interrupted. "Or Isis would have killed James and taken you as a host."

"I could have done something—"

"Steve." This time, Natasha put her hand on his wrist.

He cleared his throat. "Do you think Fury and Barton will be able to get Isis to talk?" he asked after a moment.

"No. But I don't think that's what O'Neill wants."

"What do you mean?"

Natasha touched the screen, where Jack O'Neill had entered the room. "This is a shell game," she said. "Distraction is what Jack wants, although I don't know why. If Fury can distract Isis, maybe that's what needs to happen."

On the screen, Nick Fury and Clint Barton came through the doorway. Steve tapped on the screen to raise the volume as Fury sat across the table from Isis. Clint leaned against the far wall, hands in his pockets, while General O'Neill stood watching from the doorway.

Isis smiled at Fury. "Nick, it's been a long time," he said in Phil Coulson's normal voice, no hint of the Goa'uld metal on his words.

Fury settled himself on the chair. "I don't believe we've met."

Isis's smile grew sharp. "Oh, but we have," he said mockingly. "I used to run your engine room, didn't I? Kept that steel monstrosity of yours in the sky, against all normal laws of physics."

Fury set his hands on the table. "Engineering Specialist Michael Briggs," he said after a moment. "He disappeared from the helicarrier during the fight with Loki."

"He was in Phil Coulson's body bag," Isis said, examining his fingernails. "You should really do a better job of keeping an eye on your people, Nick."

"Yes, make eye jokes," Fury shot back. "All that tells me is that you've got nothing left. You blew your wad on trying to get your hands on Agent Romanoff."

"Where is Natasha?" Even though the screen was tiny, Isis's sudden eagerness was impossible to miss. "I would like to speak to her."

"That's not going to happen," Clint said from the wall. "You're never getting anywhere near her again."

"Oh, but that's not your call to make, is it, Agent Barton?" Isis said. "If there's one thing I've learned in decades of guiding Natasha's path, it's that no one tells her what to do. Do you really think she'll be able to stay away, when she realizes what I know about her?"

"And what is that?" Fury asked.

Isis sat back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. "I can tell her what happened to her family," he said. "I can tell her why she was left all alone in the world."

Natasha let out a pained breath as, on screen, Clint pushed himself off the wall. "You really think you can bribe Natasha into coming to see you?" he demanded. "You say you know Natasha, I say you don't know a damn thing at all."

At Natasha's side, Steve asked, "What's Isis talking about?"

Natasha couldn't look away from the screen. "I never knew where my family went," she said after a moment. "Or why I ended up in the Program as a child."

On screen, Isis was smiling at Clint, and it was a terrifying expression. "I can give Natasha everything she wants," Isis was saying.

"Which is?" Fury asked.

"Answers." Isis finally looked away from Clint. "You see, that's all Natasha has ever wanted, Director Fury. She wants to know why, and that's why she is so perfect at what she does."

"So if she comes down here to talk to you, you what, tell her what she wants to know and everyone's square?" Fury said doubtfully. "You honestly expect me to buy any of this crap?"

"What other options do I have?" Isis asked. "Does it look like I'm going anywhere?"

"This is a waste of time," Clint said, turning to leave. "We're not going to get anything out of this guy."

"He doesn't blame you, you know," Isis called after Clint. "Not in the slightest."

Clint hesitated in the doorway. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"For Loki," Isis said. "Coulson doesn't blame you for what happened with Loki, not in New Mexico, not in New York. Not even when Loki rammed a sharp spear through his heart." Isis leaned forward, all his attention on Clint. "He doesn't blame you for letting Loki kill all those people, and do you know why?" Isis's eyes flashed with gold. "Because secretly, deep down, he always knew you weren't strong enough to fight when it really came down to it."

Clint threw himself across the room at Isis. Fury barely had time to get in Clint's way. "You son of a bitch!" Clint shouted as Fury hauled him towards the door. "I'm going to kill you, do you understand?"

Isis laughed as Fury hauled Clint out of the room. Jack gave Isis one last glare, then left, closing the door behind him. Isis just kept laughing.

Natasha jabbed at the tablet, abruptly cutting off the sound. She couldn't help shuddering.

"That was horrible," Steve said as he put the tablet on the bed.

"That wasn't real," Natasha countered. She pulled her legs up to her chest.

"What?"

"That was a show," Natasha exclaimed. "Phil Coulson would never think Clint wasn't strong enough to fight. Clint knows that."

"Then why did Isis say it?"

Natasha bit her thumbnail, thinking of how Coulson had distracted Isis with the lie about sleeping with Natasha, how Isis had turned his head at the last moment when he'd been about to jump into Natasha in the boiler room. "That has to be Coulson's way of telling Clint he's still in there," she said after a minute. "And Clint's reaction was a way of telling Coulson he understood."

Steve looked at the tablet, frowning. "It didn't seem that way to me."

"I've worked with those two for a decade," Natasha said. "If Clint had really believed what Isis said, he wouldn't have reacted that way at all."

"What would he have done?"

"For starters, he wouldn't have been slow enough to let Fury get in his way," Natasha said. She was going to go on, but motion caught her attention, and her throat froze up as Dr. Lam stepped into the infirmary, still in surgical scrubs.

Steve scrambled to his feet as Dr. Lam walked across the room. "Is he..." Steve said, voice faltering.

Natasha couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Why had the doctor come out of surgery like this? Where was James?

"Sgt. Barnes is still on the operating table," Dr. Lam said. She pulled the surgical cap off her hair. "He's stabilized, and we managed to safely remove the shattered bone without any further damage to the clavicle. Dr. Brooks had success on rerouting the artery and blood vessels so there's adequate circulation in the area. He's closing the site now."

"So Bucky's doing okay?"

Dr. Lam hesitated. "Sgt. Barnes flatlined once on the table," she said. "We revived him, but his body has been through an incredible amount of trauma. The blood loss was the worst. I'm worried about the function of some of his organs. As far as we can tell at this point, he didn't get far enough for any of his organs to start shutting down, but we will be keeping a close eye on everything when he's in recovery."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "Is there anything Bucky needs?" he asked. "Does he need more blood or anything?"

Dr. Lam shook her head. "Like all soldiers with the Ancient gene, it's best if he has gene-compatible donations. And we have a particular donor match in case we need any more whole blood for Sgt. Barnes."

Before Steve could ask the doctor what she meant, Dr. Lam turned to Natasha.

"We're going to be moving Sgt. Barnes into recovery soon. It will likely take him a few hours to come out from the anaesthesia, but given what Colonel Sheppard has told me about his history, I'd like to ask you to be present when Sgt. Barnes wakes up."

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" Natasha asked, still hugging her legs to her chest.

Dr. Lam sighed. "I've been there when patients wake up after a surgical amputation," she said. "It's hard enough when they were prepared for the outcome. When the trauma happens in the field... I think he'll need a familiar face to help him through the first little bit."

Natasha nodded. "I'll be there."

"Why don't you go change into some clean clothes first?" the doctor suggested. "You have a few hours before he wakes up."

With that, Dr. Lam walked back toward her office. Steve covered his eyes with his hand as Natasha slid her legs off the bed.

"Are you going to change?" Steve asked, blinking hard.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Natasha promised. "The Winter Soldier—James, always came out of stasis faster than the doctors expected."

"I'll be here in case he wakes up before you get back."

"If he does, try to keep him away from sharp objects," Natasha said. "He may only have one hand, but if he feels threatened he'll lash out."

"I know how deadly he can be," Steve said quietly.

"You knew how deadly he could be before," Natasha retorted. "He has ten years more experience now."

Steve's eye twitched. "Ten years." He shook his head. "He's older than me."

Natasha patted Steve's arm as she walked out of the infirmary. Her escort followed at a discreet distance, but Natasha found it easy to tune out his presence.

The guest room was exactly how Natasha had left it, only hours before. Closing the door, Natasha pulled off her bloodied clothing and stood naked in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

There were hand-sized bruises on her thighs and all along her torso, where Isis had used Phil Coulson's hands to hurt her. She had his finger marks on her throat, bruises on her cheeks and her left eye where he had struck her. Her wrists and calves had deep mottled bands around them, where she'd been bound to the table. The wounds on her wrists had been deep enough for the skin to have been broken in more than one place.

It didn't matter. The bruises and the cuts would heal. She would heal.

At the sink, Natasha used a hand cloth to wash the worst of the blood off her skin. She re-bandaged her wrists and slipped into the clothing she'd worn the previous day. By the time she was done, her hands were shaking with fatigue, but she couldn't rest. James needed her.

She made it back to the infirmary in good time, but James was already in the recovery ward, with a few nurses gathered around him. Steve stood by the wall, his arms crossed, staring down at James with wide eyes.

Natasha made herself walk over to the bed. James lay flat on the mattress, his skin nearly as pale as the sheets. An oxygen mask covered his mouth. A draped sheet covered the man's left side. As Natasha joined Steve by the wall, one of the nurses lifted the sheet, revealing the raw skin on what had once been the Winter Soldier's shoulder, harsh black thread slashing across the stump.

Steve made a small sound in the back of his throat, as Natasha closed her eyes and straightened her back, trying to keep herself from vomiting.

"Please stand back," the nurse said, as she took a section of gauze from another nurse and laid it underneath James' left side. "We'll be starting him on antibiotics to prevent infection."

"Are you going to bandage that?" Steve asked, nodding his head at James' shoulder.

"When he wakes up." The nurse folded back the hospital gown clear of the wound.

"How is he doing?" Natasha asked.

"His pulse is steady now," the nurse said. "His blood pressure is low, but that's to be expected."

"Is there anything we can do?" Steve asked.

"Yes, stay out of the way," the nurse told him, distracted as she examined one of the monitors.

Natasha took hold of Steve's arm and pulled him around James' bed. "Rule one of surviving in the hospital," she said under her breath. "Never, ever piss off the nurses."

"My mother was a nurse," Steve told her. "Trust me, I grew up with that rule."

They lapsed into silence, watching the nurses tend to James. After a long time, Steve cleared his throat and said, "When we were kids, I was always the one who got sick. Never Bucky."

"I've seen him injured, but nothing like this," Natasha said.

Steve opened his mouth, but then closed it without saying anything further. He leaned against the wall and kept staring at James.

Natasha ached. She wanted to know what was happening with Isis, how Coulson was faring, what Fury and Clint were doing, but she didn't move. If she left now, and James died...

She put her hand over her mouth, swallowing hard against the bile in her stomach.

He would be all right. He had to be.

After another half hour or so, there was a flutter of activity. Dr. Lam came over to the bed and examined the monitors. "All right," she said as she pulled on surgical gloves. "His blood oxygen levels have holding steady. Let's remove the tracheal tube."

Natasha was moving forward before she could even think. "Wait," she said, holding out her hand to Dr. Lam. "Don't."

Dr. Lam looked at her, surprised. "This is a good thing," she said. "It means his oxygen levels—"

Natasha shook her head. "That's not what I mean. If he's closer to waking up than you think, this might bring him out and not in a good way."

"I still need to remove the tube from the patient," Dr. Lam said.

"Can you give me a minute?" Natasha asked. Dr. Lam moved back, and Natasha slipped into her place at the side of James' bed. "Hey," she said quietly, touching his forehead. "It's Natalia, you're safe now. You're back at Stargate Command. We stopped Isis and you're safe now." She paused, then said the same thing in Russian. "You just came out of surgery and they have to remove a tube from your throat," Natasha went on, going back to English. "It's going to feel bad, but no one's attacking you, you're safe now. I'm here and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

She repeated her words in Russian once more, then moved down the bed, taking James' right hand in hers. She squeezed his hand loosely as the doctor and nurses moved up to the head of the bed.

"On three," Dr. Lam said, taking hold of the breathing tube. One of the nurses tilted James' head back and held it in place. "One, two, three."

On the last count, Dr. Lam pulled the tube out of James' mouth with one clean motion. The man gagged, eyes half-opening as he choked on his own breath.

"You're all right," Natasha said, squeezing his hand again. A nurse placed an oxygen mask over James' mouth, holding it there gently as the man's eyes slowly closed, his body relaxing again.

"Oxygen levels are holding steady," Dr. Lam said after a minute. "His blood pressure is still too low, let's get another bag of whole blood over here. And where are my antibiotics?"

Natasha patted James' arm as the nurses want about their business. His skin was cold to the touch. "Do you have another blanket?" she asked one of the nurses.

"We'll get some heated sheets," the nurse said with a nod. In a few moments, he returned to the bed with a warm sheet, which he tucked around James' body. He was careful to leave the area around James' left shoulder open to the air.

"He's okay?" Steve asked as most of the nurses drifted away. The one at the end of the bed monitoring James' vital signs paid them no mind.

"I don't know what I'm going to say to him when he wakes up," Natasha said, never taking her eyes off James' face. The oxygen mask hid most of his features.

"Say what you said to him just now," Steve said. "That we've got Isis, and things are going to be okay."

"Except he doesn't have an arm anymore."

"Natasha, you heard what the doctor said, they didn't have a choice."

"I know." Natasha lifted James' hand and kissed his knuckles. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to make him feel any better."

* * *

James regained consciousness an hour later.

Natasha was standing beside the bed, staring at the monitors, still holding James' hand. His heart beat was steady and slow and Natasha couldn't remember what his normal resting heart rate had been, when all of a sudden his hand gripped hers tight, almost as startling as his sudden intake of breath.

"James!" Natasha exclaimed, sitting on the bed at James' side.

He opened his eyes and looked around. For a moment, he didn't seem to recognize Natasha. "Where is he?" James asked in Russian, words muffled by the oxygen mask. Then James' eyes grew impossibly wide as he looked around frantically, finally stopping as he stared at the place his metal arm had once been.

With a shriek, James swept his hand over his face, pushing the oxygen mask off as he tried to sit up. He pushed himself backwards, up the bed, wires and tubes ripping off his body as he went. Natasha caught him before he could fall to the ground, wrapping her arms around his chest.

"Where is _my_ _arm_?" James screamed, still in Russian.

"Soldier, you're safe now, I promise you you're safe," Natasha said. She heaved him back onto the bed, careful not to jar his side as she did so. She waved off the nurses who had come running at the man's screams. "Do you remember what Isis did?"

James stared at Natasha for a long moment, horror and realization vivid in his eyes. Then he rolled onto his right side, burying a muffled scream in the pillow. Natasha sat at his side, unsure what to do or how to help, as James rocked back and forth silently. She put her hand on his back, avoiding the unbandaged wound on his shoulder. At her touch, James shifted, wrapping his right arm around her waist and pressing his face against her side.

Dr. Lam came running, Steve a few steps behind her. Natasha waved at them to stand back. Just for a moment, just enough time for James to get over the worst of the shock.

Although, what did she know about it? Natasha put her hand on James' head as the man curled around her, breathing hard against her belly. She'd been injured, but she'd always healed. She'd never woken up with a piece of herself literally ripped away.

After a minute, Dr. Lam cleared her throat and approached the bed with loud footsteps. "Sgt. Barnes," she said, her tone professional.

James' hand gripped Natasha's hip painfully tight, then he relaxed. Natasha helped him lie back down, straightening the sheets over his legs. The man stared up at the ceiling, eyes red, but his face a blank mask.

"Sgt. Barnes, it's Dr. Lam," the doctor said, stepping up to the side of the bed. "Do you remember me? We met yesterday."

James licked his lips. "Yes, ma'am." He never looked at her.

"Do you remember what happened to your arm?" Dr. Lam went on, deftly reattaching the heart monitor to James' chest.

James closed his eyes. "Yes."

Steve, who had been hovering at the end of the bed, opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha shook her head firmly. He raised his eyebrows at her. In response, Natasha pointed at the doctor, then at James, and made a cutting hand motion. Not yet.

"Here we go," Dr. Lam said, inserting a fresh IV needle into a vein in James' arm.

James never flinched, didn't open his eyes, didn't react at all.

Dr. Lam ran an eye over the monitors. In an aside to the nurse, she murmured, "Let's start another bag of saline and prepare a morphine drip." She turned back to the bed. "Sgt. Barnes, I'm going to need to look at your left side."

James' eyelids fluttered open. He glanced at the doctor briefly before returning his attention to the ceiling.

Dr. Lam moved to the other side of the bed to look over the remains of James' shoulder. Natasha stepped into her place and touched the back of James' hand. The man's expression never changed, but after a moment he turned his hand and grabbed hers, hard and fast.

"Sgt. Barnes," Dr. Lam said, "Can you tell me how you're doing?"

James blinked at the ceiling. "Well, I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that I'll never play piano again," he said, his voice rough.

"James..." Natasha started.

"What, that was a good retirement plan," he interrupted, before dissolving into a coughing fit. Natasha took a cup of water from the nurse and held it to his lips, and slowly, with only a little water spilling on his face, the coughing fit subsided.

"Let's get you sitting up," the doctor said, and raised the head of the bed so James was propped up. "Now, on a scale of one to ten, can you tell me how much pain you feel?"

"I'm fine," James said.

"Sgt. Barnes."

"Just give me a few aspirin and I'll be on my way."

Dr. Lam shook her head. She turned to Natasha and Steve. "If you'll give us a few minutes," she said.

Reluctantly, Natasha let go of James' hand and trailed Steve across the room. They couldn't hear the doctor's words, only that whatever she was saying made James shake his head firmly.

"What's going on?" Steve asked.

"Never admit pain," Natasha said quietly. "Never admit weakness. They use those against you."

"They who?" Steve demanded.

"The doctors," Natasha replied. Memories rattled about in her head, of the doctors who had done things to them, only how often had Isis been lurking in the background? How often had it been his knives digging into their bodies, their minds?

"Natasha, are you okay?" Steve asked. He put his hand on her shoulder in concern. "Everyone's been so focused on James..."

"I'm fine," she said automatically. "By tomorrow morning, I'll be back to normal."

"Are you sure? From what you told Fury about what Isis did to you..."

Natasha stepped away from Steve and his comforting touch. "That's irrelevant," she said, putting as much cold authority in her voice as she could muster. "We need to focus on James, and on Coulson."

Steve let his hand drop to his side. "If that's what you want," he said after a minute.

Natasha shook her head. It didn't matter what she wanted. She was fine, she had to be fine. She had to be strong for James, for Coulson, for Clint. She didn't have time to think about anything else.

A nurse left James' bedside and crossed the room to where Natasha and Steve stood. "Sgt. Barnes has been put on a morphine drip," the nurse said quietly. "He's still conscious but drowsy, and he's asking to see you."

James was blinked at the lights on the monitors when Natasha sat on the edge of his bed. His pupils were wide, a tell-tale sign of the opiates in his system. "Hi," he breathed.

"You let the doctor give you pain medication, I'm impressed," Natasha said, trying to sound normal.

"She made a compelling argument," James said. "Pain on a scale of none to having your arm ripped off by an alien."

Natasha brushed a strand of hair off his face. "Good," she said. "Are you going to go back to sleep soon?"

"Can't," James said, blinking hard. "Gotta mission."

"What mission is that, soldier?"

Instead of answering, James looked around. "Where's Steve?"

"Right here," Steve said, stepping into James' line of sight. "What do you need?"

James frowned up at Steve. "You're tall."

Steve cracked a smile at that. "Yeah, some days I'm not used to it either."

James let his gave drift back to Natasha. He stared at her for a long time, blinking slowly. Then he roused himself again. "Steve?"

Steve's mouth turned down into a frown. "I'm right here," he said again, touching James' foot.

"What did you want Steve to do?" Natasha asked quietly.

James blinked hard. "My arm," he said eventually. "How bad is it?"

Steve moved around the bed to James' left side. "Didn't the doctor tell you?"

James deliberately looked down his left shoulder, and the empty space where his arm once lay. "She said they had to take it all out."

"They did," Steve said quietly. "Bucky, it's pretty bad."

James let his gaze drift back to Natasha. She nodded. "Love—"

"I wanna see," James said, looking between Steve and Natasha. "I don't believe you."

"Bucky—" Steve started to say, but Natasha held up her hand.

"Steve, can you go get a mirror?" she asked.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Steve said.

"You heard what he asked."

After a moment, Steve turned and went off after a nurse.

"Thank you," James said quietly. He squeezed Natasha's hand, his fingers tightening around her palm reassuringly. "Don't trust doctors."

"I know." Natasha leaned over to kiss his forehead. "James, the doctor was telling the truth. They had to amputate what was left of your arm, it was so badly damaged."

James stared up at Natasha, his shallow breathing speeding up. "That means they can't put another one on there."

Natasha made herself nod. She didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to be the one to break this to him, but if there roles had been reversed, he would have been the one she'd look to for truth. "I'm sorry."

Steve came over, a small mirror in his hands. "This is the best they could do," he said. "You sure you want to do this?"

James turned his head. "Yeah."

Carefully, Steve angled the mirror at James' left side, showing the amputation site. The skin was still enflamed and red, the sutures tucking in the edges of the wound. Not even the swelling was able to hide the flat contours of the wound, concave over where the arm bone had once fit into the shoulder socket.

James stared at the mirror for a long time, growing paler by the minute. Finally, he rolled away from Steve, curling up on his right side, pressing his face against Natasha's leg.

Steve looked helplessly at Natasha, and she just shook her head. She stroked James' hair, careful to avoid the large bruise on his temple where Isis had struck him. She listened to his breathing grow ragged, but he didn't cry. The man she knew, the Winter Soldier or James Barnes, whatever his name, he didn't cry. He would scream, he would yell, but he didn't cry.

She sat like that for a long time, long enough for James' breathing to even out, for his heart rate on the monitor to calm to a steady rhythm. At some point, Steve had left, so Natasha carefully eased out from under James' head and settled him back onto the pillow. He never woke.

She pulled one of the chairs around to the side of the bed and sat watching the man sleep. He looked horrible, bruised and pale, but he was breathing and he was alive and they would get through this.

She couldn't lose him again.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime of watching James sleep, Natasha closed her eyes. She just needed a minute.

* * *

"Mom."

Natasha wretched herself awake at the sound of her son's voice. What was wrong, did he have a nightmare?

But no, she realised as she blinked in the dim light of the infirmary, John was a grown man now, not the little boy who'd woken her to sleep in her bed when he'd had a nightmare.

John crouched beside her chair. He looked about as tired as she felt. "Hey, sorry, but something's going on you need to see."

"What?" she asked, sitting upright. Her back screamed in protest, after having been slumped in the uncomfortable chair at James' bedside.

Natasha glanced quickly at James. He was still sleeping, his brow furrowed in pain. When she touched his hand, he was cold.

"The Tok'ra representatives came though the Stargate a few minutes ago," John said as Natasha reached for the blankets on the bed, bunched by James' feet. "They're in a bit of a shouting match with General O'Neill and your Director Fury."

"Is this about Coulson?" Natasha asked.

"Yup. Barton thought you might like to be there for this."

"Of course." Natasha smoothed the blankets over James' chest, moving his arm to the side so the blanket wouldn't press against the IV. "I'll be back soon," Natasha told the sleeping man. She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

"Mom, come on."

Reluctantly, Natasha let John lead her out of the infirmary. In the hallways, the artificial light seemed too bright. "What time is it?" she asked, trying to orient herself.

"Just after five hundred hours," John told her. "I have no idea what time zone that is for the Tok'ra."

"Did you get any sleep?" Natasha asked.

"I'll sleep later." John held the elevator door for Natasha, and pressed a button to take them deeper into the earth. "SG-19 found the treasure trove of Goa'uld tech that Isis had been hoarding. The scientists are jizzing themselves."

"John," Natasha said disapprovingly. "Language."

John smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but you know what I mean."

"That's no way to speak to your mother," she chided. It felt almost normal, teasing her son as they walked down the hallway. If she could ignore the memory of her Winter Soldier lying without his arm in the infirmary, of a murderous Goa'uld in Phil Coulson's body.

Natasha could hear the voices as they approached the closed door of the briefing room. John opened the door, and Natasha made herself walk into the crowded room.

On one side of the table was the Earth contingent, while on the other side stood a handful of people wearing unfamiliar clothes. One of them, a dark-haired woman, was arguing with General O'Neill.

Her eyes were glowing Goa'uld gold.

Natasha steeled herself. She had known the Tok'ra were like this, like the Goa'uld. Both Jack O'Neill and her son had assured her that the Tok'ra were allies, not enemies.

And they were the only ones who could save Coulson.

Head held high, Natasha walked across the room to join Steve Rogers, Clint Barton and Nick Fury. Suspended or not, SHIELD had to put on a united front for Coulson.

"Garshaw, for crying out loud!" Jack exclaimed. "Why is this such a problem?"

"The Goa'uld Isis, and you ask me that question!" Garshaw demanded, her metal voice grating along Natasha's nerves.

"How long has this been going on?" Natasha asked Clint.

"Too fucking long," Clint responded.

Natasha glanced around the rest of the room. From the SGC, Colonel Sam Carter had joined Jack. Teal'c stood in the corner, while Dr. Jackson sat with a cup of coffee in front of him.

"What's the big deal?" Jack said, spreading his hands wide. "Take the Goa'uld, pull Isis out, send the host home. Easy!"

"You cannot just execute Isis, the mother of all magic," another of the Tok'ra objected. "Her knowledge—"

"Has come at the expense of much human suffering," Garshaw interrupted. She glared the man down. "O'Neill, I agree with you in principle, but there is much to consider."

"Not from where I'm sitting," Fury said curtly. "My man has some alien creature in his head and I'd like him back, if you don't mind."

"A man who would otherwise be dead," the Tok'ra said.

"A man who has inside knowledge of some of the most dangerous security situations on this planet," Fury shot back. He leaned against the table and glared at the Tok'ra. "If you're not going to help him, just say so, so I can go on to Plan B."

Garshaw cocked her head. "What is this other plan you have?" she asked, half mocking.

"I've got a call in to the Asgard, to see what they can do," Fury said.

"I was given to believe the Asgard were all dead."

"The other Asgard," Fury clarified. "Didn't these guys show you footage of the Battle of New York? The fight against the Chitauri?"

Garshaw narrowed her eyes. "That was your people?"

Steve stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked down at Garshaw. "That was us," he said coldly. "And Phil Coulson is one of my men. We'll do anything we can to get him back, do you understand?"

A slow smile spread over Garshaw's face. "What's your name, young man?" she asked.

"Steve Rogers."

"And are you this 'perfect host' Isis built for herself?"

Steve pressed his lips together for a moment before answering, "No."

Natasha took a deep breath. "I am," she said, stepping lightly around Steve. She met Garshaw's piercing gaze steadily.

"I see." Garshaw looked Natasha up and down. "You are more in line with what I expected from Isis. Something young and pretty."

Natasha had been around long enough to know when she was being baited. She stayed silent.

John, however, had apparently reached the end of his rope. "You know what? Screw this," he said.

"Sheppard, can it," Jack said.

"Sir, look, let's just take Coulson to Atlantis and see what we can do with Ancient tech. There's got to be something!"

Garshaw cast her attention to Colonel Carter. "Samantha, you are curiously silent."

Carter leaned back in her chair, her clear blue eyes fixed on Garshaw. "All this talk about Isis having irreplaceable knowledge, that's never stopped the Tok'ra in the past from removing a symbiote from a host," she said. "You took Osiris out of her host without any question."

"And?"

Carter leaned forward. "And I'm just waiting for you to let the other shoe drop."

Garshaw frowned. "You know that Isis created much of Goa'uld technology as it has existed for many years," she said. "It would be... irresponsible, to merely extract the symbiote without first learning what she knows."

"Look, I get that, trust me," Jack said. "At the same time, it's a crappy move to let some poor guy be kept as a Goa'uld host just because you want to know what kind of cool toys he can make."

The woman raised her eyebrow at Jack. "How would you feel about a compromise?"

"Does this compromise of yours include me getting my man back in one piece?" Fury interrupted.

"It should," Garshaw said. "Although you may not like it."

"I never like compromise," Fury said.

"There are certain devices that can record memories," Garshaw said slowly. "It can be a painstaking process."

"Does my man come out the other side in one piece?" Fury asked.

"He should."

"How long is this going to take?" Clint interrupted.

Garshaw looked at him, annoyance evident on her face. "It may take some time."

"Fine," Clint said. He put his hands in his pockets. "When do we leave?"

"Barton." Fury turned around. "You sure about this?"

Clint shrugged. "Sure. Go see alien lands. Help get alien jerks out of your friend's head. Just what I signed up for."

Natasha caught Clint's eye. He gave her a slow nod, the only thing she needed to see. He knew it might be dangerous, but this was Coulson they were talking about. "Be careful," she murmured.

He winked at her. "Always."

"Barton shouldn't go alone," Steve said, giving Fury a meaningful look.

"That's why he asked Thor to go along with him," Fury said, turning back to Garshaw. "One of those other Asgard we were talking about."

"He's okay with that?" Steve asked.

"You know Thor, always up for a challenge," Clint said.

Garshaw was watching the exchange with irritation. "If you have made up your minds," she said sarcastically.

"We have, thank you," Fury said. He stood. "I look forward to speaking with Phil Coulson again."

"I would speak with O'Neill about other matters," Garshaw said. She inclined her head.

"You know, I get the feeling we're being dismissed," Fury said. He stood tall and walked out of the room. Clint and Steve followed. Natasha gave John one last glance, and left, closing the door behind her.

In the hallway, Fury had stopped, the others gathered around him. "Barton, you're sure about this," he was saying.

"What choice do we have?" Clint asked. "We've got to get the Goa'uld out of Phil, and I don't trust those alien guys to be too careful about that. They're too interested in Isis."

"I should go with you," Steve said.

"Thor's a better choice," Natasha interrupted. "He knows more about alien races than we do, and he's got that whole Asgard prince thing going on."

"Well, this is all just great," Fury said. "Barton, you're right, but your timing is a pain in my ass."

"Sir?"

"I got a call from Hill. The Chicago operation is about to blow up."

Clint swore under his breath. "Now?"

"What operation?" Steve asked.

"Something Barton's been working on for a few years," Fury said. "But I need someone with Coulson who will know if it's really Phil, or if he's being played. Romanoff, I'll need you in Chicago by tonight."

"Sir, I can't leave Barnes," Natasha protested.

"I need Barton with Coulson," Fury said, rounding on her. "You can be in and out of Chicago in a few days, Agent Romanoff. Come back and baby-sit Barnes later."

Natasha ground her teeth. "I thought I was suspended," she snapped.

"You really want to throw down about this?" Fury asked. He glared down at her, but without any real venom. "I've got a five-year operation about to blow up in Chicago. You know what's at stake here."

Natasha made herself take a deep breath. She wasn't thinking clearly. There was the potential for massive loss of life if the Chicago operation went sideways. Dozens of people were at risk. Clint would have been the best person to go, but even then, she would have gone with him. The risks were just too great otherwise.

"Nat shouldn't walk in there alone," Clint said.

"She's not going to," Fury said. "She's taking Rogers with her."

"Director Fury—" Steve tried to say, but Fury had apparently had enough of the three of them, for he held up both of his hands.

"James Barnes is going to be all right on his own for a few days," Fury snapped. "He's in an American military facility with state of the art medical technology and enough psychologists to sink the Titanic."

"He just lost his arm—" Steve tried again.

Fury put his hands on his hips. "Is there something you'd like to say to me about losing a body part, Rogers?"

Steve drew himself up to his full height at Fury's tone. "I am concerned about my friend, _sir_."

"Your friend is a soldier, Cap. He'll understand that I have run out of options are this point. It's for a few days, not ten years. Are you in or am I sending Agent Romanoff off on a solo mission?"

The emotional manipulation was so blatant that Natasha couldn't help rolling her eyes, but Steve was either so worked up he didn't notice, or he saw some sense in Fury's words. "I'll work with Agent Romanoff," he said shortly.

"Thank you," Fury said. "Thor's going to be here soon, so Barton and everyone else can go on this fool's errand to get Phil Coulson back. You two, I need you on the ground in Chicago by this afternoon."

"We'll have to leave soon," Natasha said. She tried to straighten her spine. "I'm going to go tell James we're leaving."

She turned to Clint. Everything was moving so fast, she hadn't had a chance to ask him how he was doing with everything.

He smiled at her. "Kick ass in Chicago for me, okay?" he asked as he gave her a quick hug.

"Be safe," she whispered into his ear. "Both you and Coulson."

"I'm going to bring him home," Clint promised. He kissed her cheek before pulling back. "Don't mess up my op."

Natasha sighed as she turned down the hall. She had to get ready for Chicago.

But first, there was someone she needed to speak with.

* * *

James was sitting up in bed, his legs hanging over the side. He was breathing hard and his skin was nearly grey.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked, hurrying over to his side.

He looked at her, pain shadowing his features. "I got up to use the toilet and ended up on my ass on the floor," he said reluctantly. He tried to smile. "Should get points for the swan dive I pulled."

She looked him over. His hospital gown was neatly tied, his IV line in place. "Do you need a nurse?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Already had three of them haul my ass off the floor and tidy me up. At least I could hold my own dick to take a piss."

Natasha ran her hand over his head. His long hair was stringy and needed washing. Maybe by the time she got back, he'd have had the chance.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She made herself smile reassuringly. "There's something I have to do," she said quietly. "I'll be back in a few days."

He stared at her for a long moment, before taking a deep breath. She could see him withdrawing from her. "Don't let me keep you," he said, voice cold.

"Don't do this," she said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about it," he said, physically shifting back on the bed. "Like I said yesterday, it's time for us to go our separate ways anyway."

"James." Natasha linked her hands around the back of his neck, her thumbs stroking down his skin. His eyelashes fluttered as he stared down at his remaining hand, clenched in his lap. "I'm coming back for you."

"You don't have to."

"I know that. I want to."

Silence. He didn't move, didn't react, for a long time. Then he lifted his hand and placed it on her waist, pulling her against his legs.

"Why would you want to?" he asked, voice nearly inaudible.

"Because I love you," Natasha replied.

He let out his breath in a sharp sigh, still looking at his hand. "You don't even know me."

She pressed herself against his legs as his hand slid around her back, holding her close to him. She kissed his forehead. "I want to know you," she whispered. "Can we talk about this when I get back?"

His breath was hot against her throat. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"On a mission." She didn't mention that Steve was going to be her back-up; she really didn't have the energy for to fight about it.

"Will you be careful?"

"I am always careful." She tugged on his hair until he tilted his head back. She pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. "I'll see you as soon as I can."

"Natalia—Natasha," he corrected himself.

"Natalia," she said. "You call me Natalia."

He leaned in and kissed her throat, just over the healing bruises. "Natalia," he said. "What am I going to do?"

His voice didn't shake, but Natasha could feel the tension in his body. She rested her forehead against his. "We'll figure that out," she promised. "For now, all you have to do is get better. I'll be back in a few days."

And that, Natasha told herself, was one promise that she was going to keep.

* * *

There was one last thing Natasha had to do.

She had packed her weapons into her little bag, had arranged for transport to Chicago. She was going to meet Steve top-side in half an hour.

Thor had shown up, and he and Clint were in with the Tok'ra, talking about their immediate plans.

God knew what Fury was up to.

And Natasha stood alone in the hallway outside Isis's cell.

This was her only chance. No one had said it out loud, but it had been implied that the Goa'uld didn't usually survive the extraction process. And even if the Tok'ra had some way of keeping Isis's memories around, there was only one last chance to talk to Isis himself.

To understand what Isis had done.

Natasha opened the door.

Inside the room, Isis looked up. He was still strapped to the chair, dishevelled. When he saw Natasha, he smiled. "Natasha," he said, voice metallic and harsh. "I have been waiting for you."

Natasha closed the door behind her. She walked on quiet feet to the chair across the table from Isis, far back from the Goa'uld. As she sat, she looked at the man, his expression so different from that of Phil Coulson.

There was anticipation there. Hunger. Desire.

Natasha had seen that expression on countless people in her past, all of them controlled by this same creature. People who had experimented on her. Had trained her. Had caused her pain, both physical and psychological, as a means to an end.

Over sixty years of trying to make her into the perfect little meat suit for a Goa'uld to wear.

Isis could tell her, _why her_.

Isis could tell her what happened to her family.

Isis could tell her what it was about her that made her so special.

Isis could tell her all these things, and more.

Across the table, Isis's smile grew. "What do you want to know, little one?" he asked. "Where do you want to start?"

Natasha just stared. This was the creature who had ripped the arm off the man she loved, just to cause him pain. This was the creature who had followed her around for decades, always watching, just out of reach.

This was the creature who thought he'd made her into the person she was.

Bile rose in her throat, but Natasha made herself swallow the pain, the outrage, the fear. She leaned forward. Isis watched her move, hunger and anticipation in his expression.

"Coulson," Natasha said quietly. "If we don't get you back from this alive, I want you to know that it's been an honour and a privilege to work with you."

Isis's face fell into a frown as Natasha stood up. "No, wait," he said, jerking against his chains. "Don't you want to know what happened to your family?" he demanded. "Or why I picked you, out of all the little girls?"

Wordlessly, Natasha walked to the door.

"Natasha!" Isis screamed. "Natasha, come back, I did this all for you! It was always about you! Natasha!"

Without looking at Isis, Natasha opened the door, stepped through, and closed it again, cutting off the Goa'uld's screams.

She took ten steps down the hall before she had to stop, shaking so hard she couldn't take another step. She pressed her back against the wall, drawing in deep breaths of recycled underground air.

Part of her, a very large part, wanted to storm back into that room and beat the truth out of Isis, about where her family had gone, why she'd been left alone as a child, what had made Isis experiment on her.

_Why her._

But Natasha would not let herself succumb to those base urges. That would only give Isis what he wanted, and Natasha would not give this monster the satisfaction.

He thought he'd made her the person she was. He was wrong.

Movement down the hall, and Natasha looked over to see John Sheppard, her son, her little boy, standing, waiting for her.

Isis may have given Natasha the tools, the physical strength, the motivation, but Natasha had been the one to make her own choices. Natasha had made herself into the person she had become.

Natasha had created herself.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha pushed off the wall and walked over to her son. She slipped her hand around his elbow, and together they walked down the hall, each step taking them further from Isis and the demons of her past.

There was work to be done.

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, everyone for coming on this adventure with me! If you have any questions or want to chat about this or another story, you can find me here in the comments, or over on Tumblr at <http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/>. Love you all, and see you in the sequel!


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